#will always love this death spiral position

[leahthedreamer]

Xuanqi Zhang & Wenqiang Feng (CHN) - Forward Outside Death Spiral || Pairs Free Skate Junior Grand Prix Ostrava

[ctrlhope]

Bound By Blood (m)

synopsis: A servant to the state since birth, forced to work for the royal family until you die. These are the conditions that have granted you life, yet are they are the same ones that can take everything away. He can take everything away. But he would never, for you are his future, his eternity.

k.taehyung x f.reader

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 16.0k

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: genre: royalty au, soft yandere, fluff, smut, smidge of angst

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: content: soft yandere!prince!taehyung, maid!reader, power imbalance, talks about death/violence, blood, slight predator/prey dynamics, manipulation, misunderstandings, dom!tae, tae calls reader lamb, oral (f.receiving), marriage related dirty talk, virginity kink/loss of virginity, size kink, praise, reader is fucked dumb, implied kissing reader while she sleeps, implied offscreen somno, implied stalking, ownership, tae is rlly sweet and adorable

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: notes: hello!!! this was meant to be a drabble but as you can see it spiralled out of control lmao. i got a little hyper fixated (and grew a really bad crush on this taehyung) so it ended up being way longer than i initially thought! regardless, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it!!

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The Kim Empire. 

Your home, your family, your livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

They practically brandish your mind, have been since you were no more than a babe. Stuck in the clutches of everything Kim since you were born. Your mother a maid, your father gone from the face of the earth. At least as far as you are concerned he is, anyway. 

He is better off dead. The alternative of him living scott free in some far off land, meanwhile you have to serve the hand and foot of the king sets no more than the bitter taste of coffee beans against your gums. 

Bedding your mother, no more than a fresh-faced maid at the time. Outcasting her the second after when he had to have known the rules of the palace. The demise it would cost both her and her future daughter. Perhaps every generation that followed as well– if there were to be any, that is. 

Housestaff are not meant to have relationships. They are meant to serve the king and his bountiful family. How are you meant to do anything else with a child bouncing at your hip, a husband grabbing at your ass. 

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times. The words ingrained in your skull just as the brand you received when you were far too young to remember the pain of it. Evidence that you are bound to the palace by blood until the very moment you take your last breath. 

The punishment for becoming pregnant within the walls of the palace are simple: your child belongs to them. For anything within the Kim Estate is their rightful property, given to them by the grace of god. 

You, a gift from god to serve the empire. You would snort at the notion if training from a young age prohibited it. You are just a result of your mothers kindness, her naivety. 

You could never find it within your heart to blame her. She was just a girl who thought she was in love. Fired for her love. Had her daughter taken from her to serve for her love.

Love is something you will never be granted the property of. 

You will be granted an allowance to send home to your mother to keep her afloat. You will be granted a room to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat. A secure job in which you can never be fired– well. That is a lie. Though, your termination would come at the end of an axe, rather than a piece of paper. 

You used to muse at the thought– when you were a young girl, no more than 11 or 12. Going through your melancholy years, hating the rest of the world for simply existing. For putting you in a position where you could not change your fate, instead had to endure your present. Feeling like a  girl trapped in a tower just like the bedtime stories had always prescribed. 

One time you had caused such a ruckus in front of the oldest Kim son you really did think you were going to get the axe. Hell, you were even prepared for it. Locked away in a cell for two nights, brought before the executor. 

Right before the swing was meant to be brought down against your neck the head maid ran into the room, gave some sort of letter to the man. She apologised profusely, gripping your ear and dragging you away from the scene. 

You hadn’t acted ary since then. It taught you your place. Made you realise the need to survive buried deep within your bones. In the innate way some sort of wildcat would lash out until it was bloodied and on its last breath. 

You would not die at the end of a knife. You’d live your life, acting a maid until you could die peacefully of old age. Even if it meant surrendering yourself to servitude for the most annoying brat you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

A quiet sigh slips past your lips at the mere thought of him. The sound would get you punished if anyone were to hear, especially in respect to the coveted crown prince of the kingdom. Few share the same opinion as you of him– but then again most that work here aren’t forced. 

It is only when the stars are strung high in the sky that you allow yourself to feel such things. When you stay awake past the beginning of rest hours, most of the staff (save for the night shift) falling to sleep hours prior. Only then when you’re out in the gardens do you allow indignation to satiate your brain. 

For the few hours of freedom you may hold dear until the next morning begins and you are forced to live the same day once more. Over and over again until the end of time. 

Your fingertips reach out as you walk, bruised from the scrubbing of floors, to find purchase against the walls of flowers rimming the maze. Rough fingertips dance against the gentle petals of roses, lulling in the feeling. Picking themselves against the thorns without much of a thought, not withdrawing. Only pausing feet to observe. 

How can something so delicate and beautiful wish to cause harm? It does not. It simply desires a way to survive. You could never fault it for that. 

“Pretty, are they not?” A dark, husky voice sends cold down your spine. Hairs become on edge, back straightens taught, ears perk just as if you are an obedient dog. Fear flashing through your entire being.

You do not wish to turn around. Do not have any want to face the man that has caught the air in your lungs. The one catching you in the garden without any proper attire in place. Though you must. You must bow, grovel at his feet for forgiveness for allowing him to see you in your nightgown. For not being in bed as you should. 

Prince Kim has never been known for being kind. 

Your body acts for you while your mind sets on pause– taking several steps forward, bending your body at the hips to give a proper 90 degree bow. Your hands clasp before you, hair coming down in front of your face. 

“Prince Kim–” You rush, suddenly out of breath, “Please forgive my insolence. I-I am not of right attire or mind to be standing in front of his excellency right now. Nor should I be excused for touching the property of the palace. I have no proper excuse and any punishment you decide will be deserving. Please forgive me.” The words recite from your lips like a bible– instruction of them being heard time and time again. 

Cold night air whips at your ankles, fluttering the gown around your ankles. The chill only adding to the cold sweat you’ve discovered has perspired. Making your hair dance around your shoulders.

You expect something, anything really. A slap, a single word. Though there is only silence in response. Silence that extends far too long and feels far too pungent for your taste. If he was going to do something, you rather he just get it over with. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear the baritone of his voice once more.

“Pretty, are they not?” He asks again, repeating the same sentiments as before. Confusion bristles through as a kite in the summer air. Why is he asking you this? Is he not annoyed he caught a maid in such a level of disrobement? What is he trying to gain? What does he want? 

All the questions you do not have any hope to answer rush through you causing you to feel confused and incomposed. Every boring lesson you were forced to sit through never taught you how to deal with this exact situation. You aren’t sure what he wants, nor your place in the garden. The thought scares you. 

Against your better judgement, you allow your chin to tilt up only slightly. Only enough to look at the man– to try and read the expression on his face so you can better analyse your next action. 

The shock you feel when you find his face is only inches from your own, frame bent down to make his eyes level with yours is something you cannot explain in words alone. 

You would prefer to scream and run, however that is not an option at this moment, or so it appears. Instead, your eyes only widen in shock, in trepidation. Your mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as you stare.

Never before have you made eye contact with a member of the family. Never before have you had the luxury to view one so close. In any other circumstance, you suppose, you would surely be punished for such a thing. Someone lower should never view a future king in such a way.

You wish you could say he was a heinous, ugly beast for hatred of the palace alone. Yet you can’t, for he isn’t. He is beautiful. 

Sure, you knew that already. Paintings of him are plastered across the walls– his face is everywhere eyes are able to reach. Yet this close, at this angle, you can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat. Can’t help but admire every facet of his complexion before being thrown in front of the lion again. 

A gorgeous, blinding smile wipes across his face the moment you face him. Lips forming into an adorable box after he finally has your attention fully drawn on him. You’re startled back once again, sending your brain into a further whirlwind than before. 

He desires an answer.

“I um… Yes. I suppose they are.” You nod slowly in response, following in his footsteps as he returns to full height. 

You must follow his lead– it is how you will survive. 

You usher a stray lock of hair over your shoulder, trying to stop it from hitting your face. The air starts to become stale again, feeling empty in the lack of his reply. It is awkward, and the way he stares at you, eyes darting around your face– your figure, has you feeling in some sort of girlish, embarrassed way. 

You think you dislike the feeling. 

“Are you a fan of roses?” His arms are pulled behind him, wrapped together as he bounces on his toes in something that looks like… boyish delight? The muddle of your brain can't help to understand a single thing. He is making no sense, trying to make conversation with you. Trying to find a morsel of companionship in someone who is meant to bow to him like he is the true god of your mortal plain.

You will have to oblige until he allows you to depart. 

“I suppose so.” 

He frowns. Try again.

“I adore them, the palace always has the most gorgeous petals all year round.” You smile at him, hoping it masks any discomfort you feel. 

The smile returns to his own lips as he begins to walk. Tilting his head to you as a cue to join him. You try to keep your paces a few behind his own, a maid should never walk beside a member of the family. Though he only slows in response, matching your gate even though it is obvious he hates having to slow down. 

Why is he behaving in this manner? It makes no sense to you. 

“The flower of devotion.” He nods, breaking the silence once more and keeping his eyes straight ahead. 

You almost want to admire his profile– the gentle curve of his nose, yet you refrain. Training your eyes ahead, keeping your fingers laced in front of you. Trying to look as put together as possible at this moment. 

“Is it?” You quiz, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind it. Unbothered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose, flowing sleep pants. 

“Of many other things, as well.” He nods, sending a slight smile at you. 

“I don’t know much about the language of flowers.” Though it feels wrong to be talking with Prince Kim so casually, you try your best. The more you give in, mayhaps the sooner he’ll bore and the faster you will be able to run from the cage. 

“Tell me your favourite, maybe I can tell you its meaning.” He pauses and you find yourself at the foot of the gazebo. He reaches out his hand, offering to help you up the small stairs of it. 

All over again you find yourself taken aback. The prince is requesting that you touch him, not for his service, but your own. He desires to help you. Is for some reason treating you like a lady. 

You don’t understand it, yet with great hesitation you oblige. You place your hand on his much larger one, allowing it to encase it. Help you up the stairs.

“I don’t know many…” You hope he cannot hear the hesitation in your tone, “Though I’ve always been fond of lilies.” You tell him, attempting to pull your hand away from his own as you reach the top. 

He doesn’t allow it, keeping your small palm tight in his own. Fear trickles in once more, circling around your heart, constricting it. 

You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him in the slightest. It is here where you shall face punishment for all the previous misdemeanours committed. White stone shall be painted with red and you will be left to your own devices to clean up the mess.

Your lungs start to take in more air, though of course you try to disguise it. Turning around to face him, to discover why he has kept you held firm, air is leaving your lungs for another reason entirely. 

He holds your hand close, examining your fingers. Tilting it back and forth, smoothing his thumb over the back of your skin. If he takes note of the little dots of red, he doesn’t make comment of it. He only curls his fingers upwards, hooking against your own. Bringing your hand up to his lips as if it was the most delicate thing on earth. Staring at them with a passion you doubt you’ve ever seen before.

“Rebirth.” His breath fans across your knuckles, slowly lowering to place a gentle kiss against the skin. His lips are soft, so gentle against your weary flesh. So full of safety, so full of song.

When he retracts, he pulls away no more than a millimeter, though his grip tightens. 

“Purity.”

Your first meeting with the prince had left you with a flurry of emotions, none of which you could hope to syphon through. For hours he kept you in the gazebo, sitting with you. Talking until it appeared the sun was cresting over the horizon. 

He refused to release your hand the entire time. His fingers playing with your own, perhaps obsessed with the feeling of your tiny hand laced with his own pristine skin. Did not pay any attention the several times you tried to excuse yourself, only changing the subject of conversation to try and keep you in place.

It was strange. Confusing. You did not understand the reasoning or cause behind any of his actions. 

Well, at least until the next morning while you were scrubbing the floors. Your friend Annabell cleaning right by your side. Catching up, gossiping about the new recruits found in the manner. It is only times like these when you actually get the chance to talk, to giggle with someone meant to be your equal in both age and house status. 

The only chance you’re truly able to forget about the fact she is able to leave once her contract expires. But it does not matter– any small amount of spite you hold is slashed away by her kind smile. The understanding in her eyes as she treats you like just another maid set to work for the king instead of a captive. 

It is only after the 7th yawn of the morning she asks about the poorly covered bags under your eyes. You had gone to bed with the rest of the girls, there is no reason you should be so tired. You never appear to be, at least it is not shown around others.

You struggle with yourself for a moment, trying to decide whether the night before was meant to be kept as a closely guarded secret to your chest. Yet one look at your closest confidant had you spilling everything. 

The entire night– the stars, the flowers, the way he prattled on. How tight he gripped your dirty, calloused hand against his pristine soft ones. 

You feel strange speaking of it, remembering it in any way. It causes your cheeks to heat and a fury to settle below your ribs. 

It is a strange feeling, yet not an entirely unwanted one. 

Your eyes train to the floor as you spill your soul, unable to keep it in once it starts pouring out. You try to keep your tone as neutral as possible– to tell her about the night as if it was a simple news story you heard from a guard. Though, you’re unsure of your success in the matter. 

A poised laugh leaves the lips of your counter, her eyes cresting into half-moons. 

“You cannot be serious right? You tell stories.” She giggles, shaking her head before continuing her assault on the floor. 

You simply shake your own. 

“It happened, I was as shocked in the moment as you seem to be now.” She lets out a small bellow of giggles once again. 

“No, no. I believe it happened entirely. I’m only talking about the fluster of your face.” She giggles, lifting her rag and shaking it for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile.

“There is no such thing.” You laugh knowing that there is. 

“Oh my heavens. Y/n, you cannot tell me you’ve grown fond of the Prince, have you?” Her words are hushed now, much more so than before. As if someone may be listening to the conversation. 

You tense in reply, unsure of the answer yourself. The closest you’ve ever felt to fondness of another man was a stable boy a few years back. Only 17 at the time, head wrapped in romance novels that you didn’t entirely understand. He was handsome and he was kind. However just as you were starting to become closer to him, he was sent away to work at another palace. 

You had not been optimistic since then.

She takes your silence as an answer in itself. Moving towards you, gripping your shoulders and hauling you to sit on your haunches. Forcing you to look at her face as she speaks. 

“You cannot be serious.” She repeats again, hoping for any sign of doubt. All she receives is bewilderment in reply, “Y/n. You can never trust Prince Kim.” 

You sigh, “I know, Anne, I–” You’re cut off with her own voice again.

“No, not in the way you’re imagining.” She sighs, letting her hands drop from your shoulders to continue scrubbing at the floor. Making work of herself as she speaks, “The other maids don’t tell you of much, do they?” 

You can’t deny it. Your seclusion within the castle walls is only partly of your own design. 

Other maids do not feel as though they can trust you, seeing as you are full property of the crown. In their eyes, you hold not a crumb of loyalty to your own kind. Few maids speak to you like Annabell does for fear the second they say anything wrong you are going to tell the world. 

You would never, though your word is worth its weight in feathers to them.

“They don’t care for me as you do… no…” You admit, continuing to clean as well. She already knew the answer, letting out an exhale before she speaks.

“Prince Kim has a pension for… debauchery… I shall say,” She flinches at her own words, yet doesn’t know a better way to put it, “The variety in which he uses pretty words to seduce young ladies to bed with him. Royalty from other lands, general’s daughters, maids. It matters not. He likes them for the night then pretends they shall never exist again.” 

Each word she speaks sends another stab into your gut. A dull pain blooming from the same places which a swirling was forming before. 

Ah. It all makes sense now. 

“Oh.”

“He has a particular fondness for the other maids, you know. Bedding them without a second thought.” A grimace forms on your friend's lips, scrubbing harder into the already shining floors, “There is no reason to form any sort of affection for that man. It will only end with his seed inside your core and a knife in your heart.” 

Yes, everything she is saying makes perfect sense. You feel almost stupid to not see it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it– want to think about it in any sort of fashion. But this makes much more sense than the crown prince wanting to speak to you for any other purpose. Explains why he was acting as a true gentleman to someone so much lower than him. 

However, you find that it does not take away the cavernous pit that has formed in your gut. 

“I see, I have no desire for either.” You nod your head in understanding, not sure of what else to say. “I don’t understand why he’s taken an interest in me, though.” 

She gawks, “I don’t understand why it has taken him so long to in the first place.” She shakes her head.

“Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Y/n, you must promise me. You will not fall for him, nor give any part of yourself to him. He is not someone that will care for you like you deserve.” She states, blue eyes piercing icicles into your own. She is determined and will not relent until you agree.

“I do not wish to. Not after hearing all of…” You make some sort of motion with your hand, “that. Anyone would be a fool to like him.” 

You nod your head while Annabell smiles in agreement. 

“Good.” 

Those are the last words you exchange with anyone for hours. The rest of the day passed by with lightning, an endless turnstile of things to take care of. A ball was to be held soon meaning the castle would be a wreck for the next few days. Too much planning, cleaning, sewing, coordination had to take place before anyone could rest. 

Honestly, you were grateful for it. A break from thinking was much needed. As is a good night’s rest. 

You sigh, already imagining how lovely it would feel to pull off your shoes for the day. Peel the cotton off your body and replace your dress with something more comfortable. 

Oo! Hopefully enough warm water will be left for a quick bath. That would be just wonderful, your muscles would be able to unfurl. The perfect thing to lull you into a glorious sleep.

Your arms stretch over your head as you finish descending the staircase into the maid hallways. Bones in your back pop from the pressure, causing a sigh to make its way from your lungs. Your nimble fingers make their way to the ribbon holding your hair in place, untying it and allowing the tresses to fall. 

Soon you would be in the maid resting quarters– your appearance would matter not there anyway. 

You send small smiles to other staff members passing you, those that have either just woken for the night or those who still have work to do. Yet in return, each one of them just stares at you with an incredulous look. Turning and whispering to their friends as if you were not still in front of them. 

You can’t help to understand why. Those around you may not have considered you a friend, but they were never rude. Always polite when need be. It has you feeling strange, some type of nervousness as you get closer and closer to the hallway extending to the maids personal rooms. 

Rounding the corner, you discover exactly why. 

His frame looks entirely out of place standing there. A perfect, pristine picture in a hallway of drab, illuminated only by the lanterns hanging on the wall. Royal blue tunic draped on his shoulders only emphasising his status. 

He looks as though he was never meant to be here. Like a mistake was made along the cobblestone walls. No, he looks as though he is meant to be among the living. Not in your dreary, windowless life. Nothing could change that. 

You stand there frozen, a deer caught in the lanturn of a hunting party. A pounding of your heart, as well as the dark swell of your gut coming back to life. Why is he here? Why the hell does he have a bouquet of flowers?!

You wish to scream, but you don’t. You have already been caught. 

His eyes look up from where he created a small pile of dirt on the floor. His face coming alight in an instant, pushing himself to full stature from where he once leaned against the wall. Long legs making their way towards you while he suddenly has the decency to hide the bouquet behind his back. 

Annabell certainly did not mention this method of Prince Kim’s seduction. You had never seen him down here before. 

“Hi.” Is all he says once he is finally face to face with you. His face bright and youthful. Excited.

It seems all formalities have been dropped in his mind, though you refuse the notion. 

“Prince Kim.” You simply reply, lowering yourself in a curtsy. 

He pays no mind, almost pretending you never did it in the first place. Instead, he simply rocks back and forth on his heels, bouncing slightly in delight. Wanting something, unable to voice it. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, hoping to end the encounter swiftly to stop all of the prying eyes leering into your being. 

“I brought you something.” His eyes do not break contact with yours once and you can see his hand twitch by his side as if it wants to reach out for something. You're glad he has the decency to hold back, so you shall do the same by pretending you never saw the flowers in the first place. 

You choose not to ask yourself why he brought you a present. It must just be a trick of seduction.

“I am honoured to accept such a thing.” You send a small smile his way, something between real and fake. It seems to make him beam. 

His arm comes out from behind, holding the flowers between both of your bodies. You look down at them, shock written across your features. 

Sure, you had noted them as flowers before. But you think these may be the prettiest ones you’ve seen in your whole life. Petals of orange, white, and purple cloud in your eyes. Stomatas filled with the sweet pollen.

Lilies. All different kinds– ones you’ve never seen before.

They’re out of season, at least you think they are. How did he get these? Why is he giving them to you? Why is he trying to get the butterflies to return? Why is he trying to make your heart explode?

“Prince Kim…” You’re not sure what to say– instead gently reaching out to feel the velvet of a petal. Staring intently at their colours, unable to pull your eyes away. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His voice is a husk of a whisper, as if you’re the only two in the hallway. As if other maids are not passing, as if they are not staring at the two of you.

“Yes… I… I’m not sure what to say.” It is all so hypnotic. 

“Thank you would be a good beginning, no?” His smile is soft, a light chuckle present in the tone.

You pause, tilting your head to look up at him fully– a large, real smile donning your lips.

“Yes. Thank you.” 

You feel as if you are floating, just as you would when reading those romance books in your late teen years. Like the world has stopped moving save for the prince in front of you slowly passing the flowers into your arms. 

Your hands brush against each other and you feel his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slight. Wishing to grab onto your hand just as he had done the night before. Wishing to insect every line that traces over your fresh once more.

However, he refrains. Allowing his ringed fingers to sink themselves into his pockets.

“I was just going to have them delivered. I’m not really meant to be down here, you know,” His smile is shy, “But I didn’t know your room. That, and I wanted to see you again.” 

You look down, unable to keep the eye contact he presses you for. Prince Kim is too much for you. You don’t understand how he couldn’t be too much for anyone. 

“Oh…” You’re a flush, “Thank you for saying that.” 

“It is nothing to thank me for.” He chuckles, bangs dimming the hues of his eyes, “I’m sure I bored you with all of my ramblings.” 

He did, partly, but that was more discombobulation for the situation and a sense of tiredness creeping into your bones. You shake your head quickly.

“Of course not. I had.. Fun.” Mayhaps fun isn’t the right term, yet there is no word that exactly describes your emotions of last night, nor the ones of today.

“As did I.” His lips are tight in a smile again, feet bouncing on their heels once more. He’s nervous, wants to say something again but isn’t sure how.

You’re not sure how to feel about learning what that habit means. Not sure how to feel about what any of this means. You have not had a moment alone to truly dissect what all of it is. 

“I would love to spend the night talking to you again, if you would allow me.” You don’t think you would love anything more, yet you know you would not be able to function. Would probably make a fool of yourself, too. 

“I-I think it would be best if I were to get some rest… I had not even an hour before I had to start working last night.” 

He frowns, “That’s not good for your health…” He pauses, searching your face for any signs of distress, “Then let's talk in your room. I will only stay until you sleep.” 

You pause, air drifting back into your lungs.

Ah. Right. 

The words of your friend sink in once again, breaking you out of whatever trance he had put you under. Whatever spell he laced through both of your ears to have you singing songs of praises for him and the crown. 

He wants you as a notch in a bedpost. Nothing more. It is clear as day and you are a fool to think anything other than that. This is all just a cleverly rehearsed show. You will not fall victim like your mother. 

All royalty is the same. Use use use. Beat a dead horse until it stops coughing up any sort of reprise. 

Your posture is suddenly tense, fist gripping the flowers so tight your knuckles appear white. 

How dare he think so low of you. How dare he think he might be able to fuck you for nothing. 

“Men are not allowed in the women's private quarters.” Your voice is staunch, though it is not as if he can tell nor cares. 

If he does, he doesn’t show it. 

“Ah,” The lilt is still evident in his tone, the cat playing with the mouse, “But I am not any man, am I?” His body leans a bit closer, pulling his face parallel to your own. Smirk playing on his lips. 

Beauty is a deceptive thing, isn’t it? “When I am king I’ll make it so I can see you whenever we both desire.” Something heats in your gut at those words, yet anger quells it just as fast. 

“It is a shame that you are not King yet, then.” You nod politely in his direction, trying to excuse yourself. Yet your words only seem to excite something in his eyes, lighting a fire behind them. 

“My, I didn’t know you felt that way.” He smiles coy. A flustered sensation overcomes you as you realise the double meaning behind your words. You had made it sound like you wanted him in that way when that could not be farther from the truth.

“I do not.” You state, your voice ice. Though once again, it seems that it does not pierce him. 

“There is no reason to be so cold, Y/n.” He sing songs, tapping one of his long fingers against the side of his head. 

“I am not being cold! You are just not listening.” You sigh in exasperation. Exhaustion and annoyance make you forget yourself, causing your volume to rise just as his own does. This only seems to excite him more. 

“I have heard enough.” He giggles, boyish and what others would describe as cute. Right before you’re able to argue back once again, he cuts in with his own voice once more.

“I will leave you for now. Find a pretty place for the flowers.” 

He smiles generously at you, beginning to walk away, “Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.” 

In your shamble of a disposition, you’re left stuck there. Staring at his back as he retreats down the hallway. 

The shock of everything that had just transpired coming over you all at once. How poorly you had behaved. How you spoke to him. He could have you killed for any one of those things however instead he left you with a bouquet of flowers and a promise for another night. 

You scramble to find yourself, to move yourself from out of the eyeline of every other maid. To make your way to your room, your one sanctuary as quickly as possible. 

It is only when you’re in those walls, hard oak door shut firmly beside you that you have to remind yourself of your promise to your best friend. Remember that the prince fights his battles with words and emotions. 

Your second meeting with the man had left you even more confused than the first. Thousands of questions and emotions real through your bones at a pace your brain can’t manage to understand. Leaves you fuming, trying to form a single coherent thought as you analyse the last two nights with a ferocity unimagined. 

In your state, however, you neglect to think of the one question that should be dancing before you, held on a string just out of reach. 

Why did he know your name? 

It is apparent that since that night, Prince Kim has located which room you find habitance in. 

This morning, another letter has found itself slipped under the base of your door. They have become commonplace now– letters detailing apologies for why he was unable to visit, what he had gone about on his day, his regrets that he has not heard back from you in what feels like ages. 

He’s tried to speak to you a few times in the palace when you work. His eyes always trained on you with something you’re unable to describe when you clean nearby. 

You wish you could say it was perverse in manner, but it was nothing of the sort. 

Every once and awhile you would catch a lily pinned to his breast pocket. He would send you a secret smile whenever it caught your attention. As if it was a tale meant for only the two of you to know. As if he wanted to carry a portion of you with him.

You may be naive in saying so, nor do you have much experience in the matter, but these do not feel like the actions of a man who simply wishes to find home under your dress. These feel more personal. More extravagant than anything else. 

Nevertheless, you ignore every single advance. Annabell made you promise, and it was a promise you were intent on keeping until your dying breath. 

Put the letters away in a box, never to be responded to. Avoided looking at him whenever he was near. Rushed out of rooms when it appeared he was intent on  making his war for you.

Icing out the prince is what is best. Whatever lilies he will wilt and die and you will be able to continue on with your hatred of the Kim family as well as your blood pact with the throne. 

You only wish it was that easy.

“Y/n!! Miss Y/n!!” There is a scramble outside of the door, voices hailing for your presence. You don’t know why– you’re on wash duty. Anyone, unless they’re extraordinarily new, would know that. 

The voice grows more erratic, more panicked. As if their life depends on finding you in that very moment. The other maids in the quarters send their glaces to you, urging you to go yet not one opens their mouths. 

At least one bonus of endenturing your entire life to the palace is that you have grown in rank. More than 10 years has granted you a decent position. 

A hushed sigh slips past your lips and your hands find themselves forcing the pile of sheets into the washing tub. Your hands quickly wipe away at your apron, ridding them of any moisture before pushing open the door. 

Stepping into the hallway lined with stone you notice only a single girl. Her entire form shaking as she paces the hall– panicked. Blonde curls bouncing with every step, cheeks a fluster. 

A new recruit, indeed. Celley is the name she wears. 

She had just entered with the last batch of new maids, starting at the palace no more than 2 months ago. She was a recruit you were unsure of– not having a lick of grace or balance, nor any experience with serving. But you suppose there are many reasons maids are chosen. 

You do not like to think of them.

Her feet are suddenly clamouring over to you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’ve stepped in the hallway. Her small, shaking hands grip your shoulders, holding you with all the will she seems to possess. 

“Excuse me have you seen–” She stops herself, tiny pants pausing as her eyes go wide, “Oh my days! Miss Y/n! You must hurry!” She rushes, hand gripping your wrist as she tries to pull you away. 

Though your face twists in confusion, your feet remain firm. 

“What’s the matter?” You ask, both sympathy and concern entering your frame. You can admonish her later for her lack of manners, however now, the girl seems truly frightened. Her large steel eyes looking back at you, pleading. 

“The crown prince! He’s!” She’s out of breath once again, continuing to try and urge you on.

This time, the second the word prince is muttered, you begin to follow her pace, “He’s lost his mind! He’s going on a firing spree! Locking up anyone who tries to calm him!” 

“What? Why is that? Did something happen?” You ask hushed, urging the girl to keep her voice down. Though you both are similar in age, it is apparent who has experienced this type of thing before. 

“He got into some kind of spat with his father. His instructor was fired when he tried to continue on with their lesson.” It seems she understood your message, continuing to hurry you down the halls. 

“And what am I meant to do?” 

“I-I don’t know!” She lets out a quiet yelp, pulling you closer as you exit the maid hallways and enter the palace ones, “His personal maid is away visiting family. She said to leave everything to you if something were to happen! I-I didn’t know what else to do!” 

Damn Eleanor and everything she stands for. Why the hell did she have to bring your name into this?! Shouldn’t the head maid be called in times like this?! Not you, someone who wants nothing to do with any member of the royal family. Especially the crown prince himself. Sure, there must be rumours spreading around but you had managed nearly three weeks without speaking to him!

You let out a sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident, more put together. You will do this, and you will come out victorious. Every battle before has left you victor. What is one more?

“I understand. It will be dealt with.”

The least you can gain is the idyllic picture of the prince to be shattered forever. That would be the most ideal outcome, something to truly force him out of your heart for good. You will not fall prey to him and his earthly desires. He will not win your heart. 

At least that is what you hope. 

The throne room's doors stand before you, delicate lacings of gold worth more than your entire being etched into its surface. A glittering picture for what is sure to be a bloodbath behind its contents. 

A deep inhale of warm air fills your lungs, hand pressing against the door as you force it open. Face someone you have not wanted to see nor extinguish the flames of in nearly a month. 

He stands before you, 20 paces ahead. A broken bottle in his hand as he heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the passion of ten thousand suns. The look of murder in his eyes as he stares down at a maid, her form on the ground. Bowing with as much might as she can possess, looking for any exit possible. Few other maids stand around the room, keeping their heads low, avoiding any eye contact possible. 

Though he looks like a mad man– mayhaps a god of war himself, not a single hair is out of place on his head. He is still the picture of sovereignty. And though your breath spikes, you find that you are not afraid. 

What a strange feeling it is.

The creak of the door sends single to him, has him whipping his head to face you. Anger etched into his features, a new target befalling his sight.

You stand tall, moving towards him. You will rise to the position given to you, even if it shall mean your inevitable downfall. As long as the new staff are safe.

Only, when he looks to you, no wrath is found. No anger or deceit. The second his eyes meet your own, his expression drops along with the bottle in his hands. More glass littering the floor in its wake. 

His eyes soften, his lips turning from a sneer into a gentle frown. His shoulders automatically lower, and suddenly it appears that there is no one else in the room. His legs move automatically, carrying themselves to you with such a hurried pace you would have thought he had seen a long lost friend. 

Oddly, this scares you more than when he was angered. 

You start into a bow, “Prince Kim, I’ve come in place of–” 

His arms wrap themselves around you before you can speak another word. Pulling you in, wrapping you into his scent as you're pressed against his sturdy chest. Strong arms keep you in place as he tries to make his body become one with your own. 

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, one hand raising to tie itself in your hair. It forces you to stay in place, stay attached to him just the way he wants you to be. Allows him to inhale, breathing in all of you. Finally delving into the scent that he has been craving.

Your eyes only widen, hands staying firm at your side in shock. Heart beginning to race, head becoming lost in the soaps that only a member of a family could possibly own. 

You’re not sure what to do. How to behave. As far as you are concerned or aware, this is something that no other has had happen before. At least not so openly. Not so brazenly in front of a myriad of other people. 

But, it seems to calm him. To placate him in a way you’re not sure anyone could explain. 

You try to make a small twisting motion with your hand, try to urge everyone else to leave while they have the chance. 

They seem to take it, exiting the room as fast as possible. 

You’re sure word of this will spread throughout the castle quickly. You hope the consequences will not be dire. 

“Prince Kim–” You begin to speak after everyone has cleared out, after he holds you for what feels like a lifetime. You can’t find it in you to want him to pull away, no matter how embarrassing this seems. 

“Shh,” He quickly silences you with a gentle press of his lips to your pulse, “Let me stay like this for a moment.” 

You are unable to move. Unable to breathe after he kisses you. War could begin in that very moment and you’re not sure you would have noticed in the slightest. You are stunned into obeying his whim as he simply inhales and exhales. 

The umber in his voice only comes after a millennia, after his shoulders have completely sagged. After all the tension is removed from his body. 

“You didn’t respond to my letters.” He still doesn’t pull away, his grip on your hair tightening a fraction. 

You pause.

“I…I didn’t know where to send them.” You lie and his hand loosens. The correct answer. 

“My study. Put them under the door to my study.” He instructs like a king would. 

You’re not sure why the tone of his voice sends shocks to your gut. Pooling into something you only find in your dreams.

“But if someone were to see them–” 

“Let them.” Mumbles in your ear to you and you alone, a growl practically spiking through his voice, “I want them to know.” 

Oh. This is new. This is definitely new. This is not the same way you felt with the stable boy years ago. This has become something entirely alienating. A completely different beast. You know that now as his baritone voice sends waves straight through your gut. 

You simply nod in reply, your mouth unwilling to say anything back. The arm around your lower back grows more firm.

“Tell me where you will put your replies.” He commands into your ear. 

“Under the door to your study.” Your reply is automatic, years of answering to the kingdom evident in your tone. 

He sighs, unfurling his fingers from your locks to gently pet the top of your head, “Good girl.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft as he touches you.

“Good lamb.”

You sigh, fingers deftly searching through your wardrobe for just a single pair of underwear. But once again, you turn up empty. It seems like every day that passes, another pair disappears without your knowledge. 

Perhaps one of the new girls is causing a fuss, messing up the laundry for everyone else. 

That is the only logical solution, at least. 

But logic doesn’t seem to make much sense at all anymore. You couldn’t hope to understand why few of your other belongings have come up indignant as well. 

Your favourite perfume, one of your stuffed animals, even your toothbrush! All have magically vanished from thin air over the course of the last week. 

It is too bad that you haven’t had the time to think about it, either. Preparations for the ball have been raging throughout the palace. Everyone has been on their toes, unwilling to face the wrath of the planners as they try to make everything perfect. 

You have had not one moment alone to think, either swept up in cleaning, decorating, or well… recently you and the prince have been going on walks through the garden at night. Though that doesn’t matter much. It doesn’t mean anything– just another thing he made you promise to. Claiming he wishes to spend as much time with you as he can. 

His recent fixation is trying to get you to call him by his true name. 

You would never dare, nothing is more inappropriate than such a title. It is something only his most beloved is meant to call him, and that person is certainly not you.

You try to force any thoughts of him out of your head, though it is clearly a fruitless endeavour. Especially with the dream you had the night prior. 

His hands finding themselves between your legs, touching you in a way no other has. 

You flush, quickly shaking all thoughts of the night away. 

The tea! Your tea, yes. A prescription from the doctor for this very thing.

More often than not, you wake to find a mess between your thighs. Sticky arousal between them in a perverse fashion. The region sensitive and overstimulated combined with a mess of dreams. More sexual in nature than ever before.

Embarrassed, you had turned to the only person you could trust. The palace staff’s doctor. 

She had told you it was normal– that you were simply having what she described as ‘wet-dreams’. The title alone made you feel embarrassed.

Nevertheless, she prescribed you a tea to help calm your nerves. It was meant to be passifying in nature, calming any lush desires you may have beginning to form. 

You were not sure how it functioned, however you trusted her. Found that it quelled whatever fire burned inside of your heart for the time being. 

Perhaps just a new oddity to add to your reality, you suppose. 

Finally, you find a proper set of undergarments to pull over your legs. Letting out a breath in relief now that you finally have them. 

Today is going to be busier than the last month combined– the ball is tonight. You know for a fact you will be rushed around the palace all day, fixing everything into an acute sense of perfection that only the Kim family is known for. 

You reach to spray your second favourite  perfume across your skin, only to find that the bottle has gone missing as well.

Your hairs stand on edge, a dark pit forming in your stomach.

It is all too strange for you to want to understand. 

Okay, now you’re sure Annabell must be wrong. She has to be, right? There is no other conclusion possible. 

The thoughts run through your head as you pace the small confines of your room. Thumb between your lips, biting the skin feverishly. Contemplating what it is exactly that you should do. A heavy box sitting on your bed, a letter laying next to it along with a single lily.

A month ago, you met Prince Kim in the gardens. A month ago you spoke to him all night long. A month ago he brought you flowers. He has been leaving you letters ever since. Three weeks ago he held you in his arms, made you promise to write him back. Made you promise to meet him in the gardens as many nights as you can. 

But this, you could not accept. You could not possibly think this is real. Why has he gifted you something like this?

A dress lays on your bed. The most gorgeous dress you have ever seen, in fact. Lined with crystals and gems, many layers of tulle poof from the underskirt. It must’ve cost a fortune, but it was not meant for you.  It is a dress meant for a princess, not a simple maid of the palace. Not… Not someone the prince simply wanted to bed. 

So why did it lie here, along with a lace mask and a pair of shoes. Why did it come with a note from the Prince, telling you to put it on for tonight's events? Is this why the head maid dismissed you so early?

No. You could not. You will not make a fool of yourself. You do not belong up there, dressed as a princess when you are far from the thing. That is your decision. It will be the one you stick to.

Even as hours tick past on the clock, even as you can hear the night in full swing, you stay locked in your room. Feeling the same as you did when you were a girl locked in the dungeon all those years ago. Helpless, indignant, stubborn. 

Lost in your thoughts as you try to piece together a puzzle that has several spaces missing. Feelings for the stable boy– life with him, it would have been easier than this. You’re sure of it. 

You allow yourself to imagine what life could have been like if he stayed. It would have been a cosy, peaceful. A straightforward one that didn’t leave so many questions in your head. Jungkook was always like that, spoke his mind without leaving anything to be guessed. You adored it, wished you could revel in it now. Wish you could kiss him under the cherry tree once more.

A pounding wakes you from the dream you were just beginning to weave. Loud, angry knuckles against the firm oak of your door startling you to your feet in an instant. Chills running down your spine as if your body already knew who was behind it. 

You wait too long to reply, another series of rapts following in quick succession. You’re in trouble. You’ve angered the prince in a way you’re not sure you’ll be able to find your way out of, but you have no choice. He knows your inside. You know you must face him. You must be brave.

Right before another series of knocks can echo against the walls, you finally pull the door open. 

There stands the man you knew would be there all along, sculpted like the lord had made him himself. You wish you could behold him properly, to stare at his beauty in the suit specially prepared for this night. One he asked your opinion of several times during its construction.

But you are unable to, not when his shoulders heave like a bull planning its charge. Not when his eyes are narrowed into a glare that enters your soul without consequence. Never before had you felt his anger directed at you. 

The future king would be a fearsome thing. 

“It appears you are not dead.” He states, cold and detached in a way you have never heard before. It makes you feel small, feel weak. Though by now, you know he wants an answer. He will not accept the lack of one from you anymore. 

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, “I suppose not…” 

“Then what do you suppose.” You flinch. You’re not sure.

“I– Prince Kim…” 

“Taehyung.” He interjects, though you ignore him. Only his future wife is meant to call him by that name.

“Prince Kim, I could not possibly accept this gift. You have to understand.” The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink. To appear as small as possible to placate the lion you’ve wondered into the den of. 

“I do not. You are to accept any gift I am to give you.” He is stern as if lecturing the ground beneath him. He looks massive in your tiny room, taking up much more space than you wish to grant him.

You begin to grow frustrated, annoyed. Does he have no sanity? Does he really think it is okay to play with the hearts of women so carelessly? It is disgusting. Repulsive even! You do not deserve anything like this. You begin to grow tense, grow firm like a wolf cornered. Ready to lash out with no remorse. 

That is what you are, anyway. A cornered animal with no hope to escape. 

“I won’t.” You raise your shoulders, stand taller and stare him straight in the eyes. If this will have you sent to the axe then so be it. 

He grows just as tense in reply, his lips forming a sneer as he takes a step closer towards you. 

Never before has Prince Kim been opposed like this before, you’re sure of it. The way his irises become darker is proof. 

“And why is that, lamb?” He mocks, and the fire inside of you only begins to glow brighter Of course, you’re just the lamb that's wandered into the lion's den. The lamb being prepared for meal. 

Steam clouds around your head, jaw becoming tense as you try to hold back your rage. Rage for your mother, rage for the life she was taunted into the same way the prince is trying to do to you now.

“I will not become another woman you bed and then lay waste to!” You practically shout, unable to hold back your emotions anymore. 

His nostrils flare, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard my words.” You state back, indignant, “I will not be an idiot. I will not become another woman who you use for your own pleasures!”

You hear him scoff, head turning away from you for the first time as he looks around your room. 

“You think that little of me?” His eyes make their way back to you, his face having the expression of somewhat… hurt? 

Suddenly, you’re unsure. You feel stupid all over again though you’re not entirely conscious as to why. You hurt him? How could you possibly hurt the most powerful person in the country? 

You falter in your stance, and it is obvious that he takes notice. Uses it to his advantage as he takes another step closer, makes his hand find your own. His thumb brushing soothingly over the knuckle. His hands are always so soft. 

“What else am I meant to think? I’ve heard the stories, Prince Kim.” Where once was fire lays blistering coals. Hot to the touch yet unyielding in their passion. The air in the room has changed in much the same way.

“Tell me of them.” He asks you, his voice now gentle, soft. 

It is strange, the complete change he’s had since first entering your room. Has your brain going a little haywire. Especially with the way he stares at your hands. Like they could be locked forever. 

“I…” You feel flush, embarrassed to mutter the words in front of the prince, “I’ve heard you seduce women… princesses, noblemen’s daughters, maids… the lot. Then you abandon them the next morning with your seed in their core and a knife in their heart.” 

You keep your eyes to your feet, face feeling hot by repeating the words of your friend. You refuse to look at him, you cannot take the embarrassment. 

A light chuckle leaves his lips, a hand coming up to attempt to muffle them, “Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. You’re baring your soul to him! How dare he laugh! 

He coughs to muffle the rest of the sound, returning to the moment, “I apologise. I just had the realisation. You’re jealous of them, aren’t you lamb?” 

A mess of flutters takes up your stomach, your shoulders raising in alarm. Your lips open to try and form words, to try and deny the allegations made your way, yet you are entirely unable. 

Especially with the way he moves closer, crowds your space with such ease. Leads close to you, whispers words in your ear, voice lower than before. 

“You wish it to just be you I lay with, is that so?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as another, more erotic chill finds its way down your spine. 

“Th-That isn’t–” You try to speak, but your voice sounds as light as air. He moves closer, arm carrying itself around your back, pulling you flush against him as he speaks sinful words. Words only for you. 

“Ah…” He sighs in relief, lips practically touching your ear once you’re finally connected to him, “You don’t like it when I go fuck your friends then come to spend my nights talking to you… writing to you… touching myself to the thought of you.” 

You cannot take it. You cannot take this, take him. Your head is spinning, clouding with the drug known as Prince Kim. Your knees feel weak, your limbs feel all too heavy. How can someone so pretty say such sinful words without a second thought. It’s too much. Far more than your poor little heart can take.

Your arms come up, press as firm as they can against his chest despite how weak they feel.

“Mmm…?” He asks in response, pulling back to look down on your face. Mock confusion spread across his features. He takes a step back, pretending to look you up and down. Like he is just playing a game of poker while all of your tells are as clear as day. 

“Or is that not what you wish?” He asks, head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “You would like things to remain the same?” He smiles, drawing conclusions all on his own. 

He pauses, waits for you to say something, anything before continuing. But you do not, so he will keep playing this game by himself. 

“Then I shall go find someone to keep me company for the night. Mmm..” He taps his chin in contemplation, turning on his heels, meanwhile panic and dread fills every facet of your being, “What were those ones you’re friends with again? Celley? That pretty blonde? Oh, or maybe Annabell. I’m sure she would be prepared to go for a second round.” 

What? What? No, No! What is he talking about? Why is he starting to walk away?! Wait, Annabell, second time?! She has before?! 

Oh heavens, oh gods. 

“Anyway, I'll be sure to write to you after. Have a good night, dream of me.” You begin to hyperventilate as he takes one step out the door. No, he can’t leave. You don’t want him to. You don’t want him to be with anybody else. You can’t let it happen. You can’t afford such a thing! Ever! That is not where he is meant to be! 

Your body carries you before your mind does. Hand slipping out, gripping onto the back of his coat with all of the strength you can muster. Feet planted firm in your room, doing everything in your power to not let him leave.  

It is really too bad you do not see the sick smile that forms on his lips. Maybe then the pieces of the puzzle would have finally clicked in place. 

Instead he only tilts his head backwards, painting a complexion of boredom.

“N-No! I don’t want that!” You finally manage to stutter out, knuckles turning white with the strength you hold onto him. Afraid if you let go in the slightest he will pull away and disappear forever. “I don’t want you to be with other women!”

The silence that follows your confession feels a mile long. 

“Then go put on the dress.” Out of any response there could be, that certainly was not the one you were anticipating. 

“What…?” 

His chin tilts in the direction of it, urging you on, “If that is the truth, then go put on the dress.” 

“I…” You hesitate for only a moment, but scramble to motion once the prince turns to leave once again. 

You make quick paces to your bed, keeping your back to him. You feel his eyes on your back, intent on giving you no privacy to ensure you follow through on his order. 

In fact, all he does is close the door behind you. Making sure no one will be able to see in. No one will be able to watch you save for him. 

You slowly peel off the cotton of your nightgown, trying to appear brave even though his eyes are trained on your form. Even if your slip still remains on, you have never been this uncovered in front of a man before. You feel entirely bare. 

You do not look at him as you finally find your way through the tool, slipping the garment over your head with struggle, yet his face is practically predatory. 

You don’t know his plans, or what he wishes to gain. You never do. 

As the fabric settles over your hips, half of you wants to question how the size is perfect, but you refrain. Too embarrassed by everything else to even consider it an option. Your hands reach behind you to attempt to lace up the back on your own, yet another pair are already present in their place.

When did he get so close? How did he get so close without you hearing a thing? Your heartbeat must be the only sound in your ears, that must be it. 

His fingers work down your spine, tightening the dress so it fits you perfectly. Tying it off with skill you did not know he had. You feel his breath on the back of your neck. A fire begins to grow in your core. 

“I was going to present you to my father tonight.” He admits, placing a gentle kiss to the base of your neck, “The ball was meant to find my bride.” 

“Oh.” Those are the only words you can say when he is so close, arms enclosing around your waist. Pulling your back flush with his chest. 

Only words you can manage at the revelation.

“Imagine his disappointment, more so my own when the girl I had been speaking to him about did not show.” He grunts, almost as if it hurt him. Guiding your body to stand in front of the full mirror in your room. Asking– telling you to look at yourself. 

The sight is strange, yet incredible. The crown prince of the entire nation standing in your bedroom, in the maids quarters. Surrounded by squalor and chaos. Arms wrapped around a maid dressed as if she could be a queen. 

You look up at him to the best of your ability, regret plastered across your features, “Prince Kim–” 

“Taehyung.” 

“--I’m so sorry.” He does not look you in the eyes. They stay trained ahead, not straying once from the mirror. One hand rubbing small circles into the fabric covering your stomach, the other sliding to your waist.

He touches you without care, without reason. Feeling you against him for all that it is worth. 

“Actions have consequences, that is all. They can come later.” He states plainly, “For now I just wish to indulge in you.”

He brings his face down, placing it right next to yours. His hand rises, making your chin face the mirror as well. 

He forces you to make eye contact with him through it, forces you to understand each of his words clearly. 

“You’ll let me do that, won’t you?” 

You take a deep breath, gulping down all the air you can manage. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more. 

With no more than a nod, his lips are on yours. 

Spinning you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands cupping your cheeks with such intensity you fear they may become etched into your skin forever. Keeping your lips closed against his own. 

His body cages you in, pressing entirely against you. Forming against you in perfect harmony, feeling two souls become one. Feeling each other fully for the first time– no pretence or public eye in the way to stop it. 

His teeth nip at your lower lip, biting in a way that has you opening them in pain. He takes the opportunity to lick his way inside, somehow pushing even closer to your body. 

Something hard presses against you and the discovery has your knees wishing to collapse. 

The prince can’t possibly be this big. He simply can’t.

The kiss has you reeling, unsure of anything. Unsure of what to do at all. It is nothing like your first kiss under the cherry tree with Jungkook. That was soft and sweet, docile as two people discover something new.

This, this is nothing of the sort. It is hungry. It is a beast that has been starved, finally getting its first meal. It is intoxicating. It is needy and desperate in a way that has your fingers trying to press themselves even deeper into the glass. It has your breath being robbed. Your lifeforce wilts away to satisfy only the prince. 

The groan he lets out as you finally give into him, finally allow him to take control of the kiss as arousal pools in your gut. It is one of the most deadly siren’s calls you think you’ve ever heard. One that would have any woman throwing themselves overboard for just a taste. 

“Finally,” He grunts, pulling no more than a millilitre away from your lips, wetness still connecting them, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for you.” He mumbles, hungrily connecting his mouth back to your own. 

Before you know it, you’re lost in the man once again. Allowing him to move you, to guide you to your bed without withdrawing from you once. Tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull away. Making you drunk off of his taste, off of him. 

When he kisses you like this, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to live without him. 

Your knees hit the frame of your bed and all of a sudden you're falling backwards onto its plush lining. Panting, trying to regain some of the air he stole from you.

For the first time you’re able to look up at him, to discover the mess that he has become. Cheeks red, lips swollen. Eyes dark and twisted with lust. Hair ruffled messily from where your fingers laid. Shoulders rising and falling with effort as he catches his breath as well. 

He looks gorgeous and you can’t help yourself hoping this will be only a sight for you forever. 

He leans down, pecking your lips once more, “I couldn’t stop myself from imagining this. Since the moment I placed an order for your dress.” 

He huffs, dropping to his knees in front of you. You sit up on your elbows, face twisted into confusion as you look down at him. 

God. It is too dangerous to look at him right now. You know that as another wave of heat runs straight to your core.

“Pushing up the future queen's skirt.” He groans, hands gaining purchase on your hips, pulling you down so your waist sits at the edge of the bed, “Letting myself have a taste of her while everyone else at the party danced.” 

O-Oh. Oh. He sees you as, oh god. 

His fingers bunch in the material of your skirt, drawing in a shaky inhale as he holds onto any drop of sanity left. 

When he sees no hesitation from you, he slowly begins to push the material up your legs. Eyes trained on your own, looking to you for any sign of discomfort. 

“Have her come undone on my tongue while no else was the wiser.” He groans as he finally comes face to face with your panty covered core. 

Your brain moves at a snail's pace, trying to keep up with every tiny movement the prince makes. Trying to process his words while your head becomes fuzzy with your own arousal. 

You feel like mush, so pliable in his grip.

His large hands slowly begin to part your thighs, to look at what he has been craving for so long when your brain catches up with you, embarrassment overcoming your being. 

“Y-You can’t! I-it is dirty to do such a thing.” At least, that is what you had been taught. Though, the look in his eyes and the growl from his throat tells you the opposite.

“You could never be dirty. No part of you could ever be.” The sound he lets out is more akin to an animal than anything else, and suddenly you feel like a schoolgirl. Flustered and embarrassed beyond anything else. 

The muscles of your thighs untense, the look on your face blushed and biting. 

“You will let me?” He asks again, and despite your embarrassment, you nod. He is going to be king… his word is rule afterall. He wishes it, so it will happen. You could not be more pleased to oblige. 

His grip on your thighs is more firm than before, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he pries your legs apart. He lets a groan resonate from the back of his throat at the sight. Panties sticking to your center, wetness pooling just behind causing the material to almost become transparent before him. 

You did not know it was possible for a man to have such an effect on you. 

Without a second thought, he pushes the material down your thighs. His tongue licking a long stripe up your cunt, savouring the flavour for every cent it is worth. 

He moans at the taste, not wasting a second before he dives back in. Lapping against you like it is his last meal. 

A mewl leaves your lips, too many feelings crossing you at once for any of them to be worth anything. 

Embarrassment, shame, fear all vanish the moment his lips wrap around your clit, sucking against the small bundle of nerves in a manner that has your back arching against the bed. Fingertips digging into the sheets to find a second lease on life. 

You try to look down at him, to find him between all of your small pants of pleasure, however he is gone. Disappearing until the layers of fabric while he brings you sensations you never thought were possible. 

His tongue moves like it is made to pleasure only you. Taking turns flicking your clit to lowering into your center. Licking up any bit of arousal he can make out. Trailing up once again to press flat against the bundle of nerves.

All of it has your legs kicking, your breath melting. 

He is not quiet either, letting you know exactly how much he adores this. Adores the feeling of your thighs wrapped tight around his head. Adores every little sound and reaction you have to give him. Adores the taste of you on his tongue. It was only meant for him.

It feels like he has been wishing to do this far longer than you would ever know. Consuming you whole from the inside out. Causing you to become addicted, to desire him just as much as he carnally craves you.

His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking out every ounce of pleasure that he is willing to give you. Your adorable mewls and whines grow louder, peaking every time he sucks on your clit. 

A coil has begun to form in your gut, feeling as though it could snap at any second. You wish you could see him, to look at his face and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. Observe the exact look on his face as he licks your cunt. 

You try to picture it. Try to imagine the way he would look up at you from between your legs. The dark umber his eyes would become, the gentle circles he would rub into your thigh as you finally make eye contact. 

Your walls clench around his tongue, sending a new waves of whines out of your mouth. He somehow moves faster, more precisely with every movement. Like he is able to hone in on the exact things that have your thighs quivering. 

His tongue moves up, takes your small, worn clit into his mouth. Alternating between sucking against it, flicking at it, and pressing against it firm with the flat of his tongue. 

Without warning, nor any reprise, one of his thick fingers is thrust into your wet heat. Filling you in a way you have never been able to do to yourself. Stretching you. And all of a sudden, you’re flying off the edge of a precipice.

“Prince Kim!” Your back arches off of the bed, head thrown back against the mattress as you let out a moan. Your hips jolt, cunt squeezing around his fingers, heels digging into the floor as you come undone before him. 

He works you through it with ease and grace, finger slowly thrusting in and out. Tongue firmly planted against your clit to ride you through your high. 

It would not be your last of the night. He must be gentle. 

Slowly, you relax against the bed, chest heaving from exertion. He pulls away from you, standing to full height before leaning over your shaking form. 

Your arousal coats his face, a sheen from his lips and chin evident against the soft yellow glow of the room. He looks down at you, concern and adoration written across his features. Though in his eyes, it appears that the beast has yet to be quelled. 

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You taste yourself against them. 

“You are delicious. I wish to eat you every night until I die.” He mumbles against your lips, his knee sliding between your legs. Muscle pressing against your swollen cunt. 

You try to flinch away, yet the hand on your hip keeps you in place. 

He will not have you running away. 

Not now. 

Your cheeks flush at his words, wide eyes looking up at him like he is all that matters. 

He is. 

He presses his knee further against your pussy while his lips trail down the column of your neck. Urging you towards the headboard with no words spoken until your head is against the pillows. 

Your arms wind their way around his neck, keeping him in place, “I-if we were married, I would let you.” You manage to speak, your voice shaky.

He only smiles in reply. Fingers digging deeper into your waist as if he is holding himself back.

“Then we shall call this practice for our wedding night.” He smiles, sitting back on his heels. 

Marriage, wedding night. You allow the thought to ghost through your mind, willing it to be reality. 

He smiles down at you, taking note in the way you seem to gleam at the idea. A small chuckle leaves his lips, you really are too cute for your own good. 

His voice is no more than a whisper, forcing you to stay enrapt, “You will let me, right?” He asks, eyes glancing down to where his pants strain against his hips, “I wish to make love to my future wife.”

Your mouth practically waters at the sight, his hard cock pressed taught against the expensive material. You swear there may even be a wet spot where his cum has leaked through. 

Your pussy clenches, wanting nothing more for him to find his way inside. For him to claim you for himself. Destroy you so no other man can have you in the same way.

You struggle against yourself for no more than a moment, but the way his hand reaches down, grips at his cock. Brushes his thumb over the surface has you moaning in want. 

“Please.” 

He smiles, the motion following swift. All at once his hands unbutton his pants, pushing the material down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. He groans at the feeling, thick length hitting his stomach. Pretty pre-cum dripping down the side.

Your eyes go wide. If you imagined him to be large before, seeing it now looked impossible. He is thick, long. Far too big to ever hope to fit inside of you. 

But the desperate groan in his voice, the hungry look in his eyes only has you spreading your legs. Wishing nothing more than for him to destroy you.

One hand wraps around the base as he moves closer, the other forcing the skirt of your dress as high as it will allow. He makes space for himself in between your thighs, slotting himself in. Ready to do what he has been waiting years for. 

Not yet.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry. So he leans down, planting a gentle, soothing kiss to your lips. One filled with years of time behind it. 

He knows he must be careful with you. Knows all of his patience will have been worth it when he is finally able to take your virginity. 

“Will it hurt?” You as quietly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. You find comfort in him. Find a sense of safety within his eyes. 

He nods in response, “Only for a little while, I promise.” He mumbles against your lips, placing a soft kiss against them once more. 

He slowly rubs the fat head between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your hips buck slightly in response, and he can’t help but smirk. 

So sensitive. So ready for him. 

As much as he wants to be rough, he can’t. He can’t scare you away just yet. 

He looks into your eyes once more, “Ready?” He asks, giving you one final chance to back out. You only nod your head, pulling him close, hiding your face in his neck. 

His head catches on your opening with the final drag of his length through your lips. His hands practically shake in excitement, as he guides himself inside. Letting go only once the tip is buried within your walls. 

He feels your teeth sink into his coat, your body burning with the stretch of him. He only has the first inch inside, yet you think it is more than you could possibly take. 

A choked cry leaves your lips as he continues to slowly thrust inside. Your arms cling to him as tight as possible. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as he fills you, forming your entire body just around him. Just around his cock. 

He pauses only once half of his cock is buried in your needy cunt. You feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, to bring you back down to reality from the pain you feel digging at your core. Trying to bring you some sense of comfort. 

You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes, expecting to see them soft. Filled with concern. Though there is nothing of the sort there. 

Behind his bangs is only the look of pure insanity. 

Though he tries to be compassionate, he really does.

“Are you doing okay?” His voice is strangled, coming out in only desperate cracks. He shakes, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself inside. Fuck himself deeper and deeper, until your cunt is shaped for his cock alone.

But he holds restraint. Just enough.

The way he looks at you, the way he speaks has a wave of pleasure rushing through your  skin. Your walls clamp around him, tightening even more. 

He is falling apart before you, because of you. 

He has gone mad because of you.

The feeling only makes you want to urge him on. See just how far the prince can fall.

You nod your head, looking at him with all the affections in the world, “Don’t stop.” 

He groans at your words, mind losing itself as he snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock inside until his hips are firm against your own. Teeth digging into the fragile skin of your neck.

You cry out in pain, your walls squeezing around him in shock. Pain coursing through your entire system as you are filled to the brim. Walls stretched as wide as humanly possible. The head of cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your lungs. 

“Shit.” He groans, mouth falling open, “This pretty thing is wrapped around me so tight, lamb. So fucking tight I can’t think.” 

He slowly tries to move his hips, though you only shout in response. Your legs wrap around his back, doing their utmost to keep him in place.

“Hurts!” You whine, shaking your head quickly. 

Fucking hell. What is the point of a pussy as sweet as your own if he can’t use it properly?

His hand moves between your legs, growl of impatience slipping past his lips as his fingers find your clit. They work with urgency, with need. Rubbing tight circles into it, trying to get you to feel the same pleasure he does.

You whine, overstimulated. Shots fired in all directions leaving you messy and confused. 

With every circle, a mewl sounds from your throat. Slowly your legs behind him loosen, the pain from before mixing with pleasure to become something wonderful. Something that has you whimpering for him to not stop. 

“See?” He grunts, slowly slipping out of your heat until only the tip remains, “We were made for each other.” 

He forces his cock back inside, fucking you open just for him. Only ever for him. 

Your nails dig into his back, heels digging into the mattress as you moan for him. As your cunt becomes addicted to the feeling of him filling you so perfectly. Addicted to everything he has to offer.

He moves too fast, too hard for you to even hope to keep up with. Hips pistoning into you, forcing you to take everything he has to give and more. Forcing you to be the perfect little doll for him, give him all the pleasure he can want and more. White mixing with red around the base of his cock.

Your back arches off the mattress to try and get closer to him, to try and keep up with him in any hope of the sentiment. Hips trying their best to keep him as close and as deep as possible, knowing they crave one thing and one thing alone.

“Prince Kim!” You moan, yet he growls in response. A sharp slap to your thigh sounds throughout the room as his hips pause, fingers removing themselves from your clit. 

“That isn’t my name to you anymore.” His voice is low, menacing in your ear. One more poke of the bear and you will be punished. “Tae–Hyung.” 

He emphasises the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, one that brushes against the bundle inside of you. One that leaves you crying out for him. Clinging on to him. 

“Say it.” He grunts, animalistic and desperate. Yet you’re too lost in yourself to realise how debauched he’s become. Looking less and less like a man, more like a demon come to lay waste to your soul. 

That is close enough to the truth, anyway.

“Say it until it becomes the only word you know. Every question I ask, every time I fuck myself into this sweet little cunt. Your only reply should be my name.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at him. 

Your fucked out little features as you bob your head in compliance.

“I-I” You swallow, trying to understand his words as he pounds away at your core, “I understand!” 

He smiles, almost proud of the work he has done today.

His hips only move impossibly faster, impossibly harder in a way that has that knot in your gut tightening once more. 

“We’ll start simple then. What is my name?” He asks, angling his hips to press against your sweet spot with ever slight movement. Breathe panting, his mind falling deeper and deeper into the thralls of your body. 

“P-Prin–” You stop yourself, a pinch coming down on your skin, “Taehyung!” 

He groans, almost coming undone as he hears your name fall from your  lips for the very first time. The pretty sound your voice makes with every letter. 

It could be the only thing he hears for the rest of his life.

“Who are you going to marry?” 

You whine, your head thrashing around slightly. He smiles. You must really enjoy the idea of that, huh?

“T-Taehyung!” You manage to stutter out again, feeling your release coming closer and closer as the seconds pass by. 

“Who is the man you have fallen for?” The answer to the question is easy, especially when he is fucking into you like you’re the only woman that matters. Nothing matters except for him. 

“Taehyung!” Your brain is too fuzzy to process anything else. Anything other than the way his cock fills you. Anything other than the one word he told you is your gospel. 

“Who is the boy that kissed you under the cherry tree?” You don’t even know anymore. 

Does any man exist beside Taehyung anyway? You doubt it.

“Taehyung!” He smiles into your neck. 

“Who was the boy that was going to have you killed? That saved your life?” His words don’t process through your ears, yet you know what you are meant to say anyway.

“Taehyung!” He groans, his hips stuttering, losing their pace ever so slightly. 

“Who do you belong to?” 

“Taehyung!” You whine, your thighs shaking. The coil so tight you think you may just die if it doesn’t come undone in this very moment. 

His breath is quiet, only a rough whisper in your ear, “Cum.” 

Just as your king commands, you fall apart around him. White dots in the corner of your eyes as you clamp down around him, your legs pulling him close. A cry of his name leaving your lungs as if it is the very air you breathe. 

You feel him paint the inside of your walls white, his hips stuttering– fucking himself as deep into you as he could possibly manage. If you had any sense left in your little head you would have told him to pull out, yet your brain is so high. Filled with pleasure that only Taehyung can provide. 

Waves of arousal crash around you as he slows his hips, ensuring that you ride out your orgasm to its fullest before pulling away. You wish he could stay buried inside of you, just like that. Yet you doubt that would be very wise. 

“Was that good for you, little lamb?” He asks, slowly helping you into a sit. You’re not sure how to properly answer– mouth feeling dry. Your head has not yet come crashing back down, though that is probably a good thing. 

Facing reality is too scary right now. Especially when Taehyung is so warm. So caring as he removes your dress. Slips your nightgown back over your soiled body. 

“Very…” You nod, unable to take your eyes off of him as he moves around the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, removing his shirt and dress-coat. Placing them over the back of a chair. Neatly hanging the dress on a hook, taking care that it is not damaged in any way.

Your arms find themselves reaching out to him, trying to pull him closer to you. He smiles once he takes notice.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” It is clear he was already planning on it, but hearing the words make you smile oh-so bright. 

“Yes, please.” You nod quickly, eyes already feeling tired. You did not know how he had so much energy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Right now he is meant to be in your bed, arms around you. In fact, you become annoyed that he isn’t already. 

“Alright.” He smiles, slipping next to your form. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

You feel so safe. So warm with him. So protected that you can’t stop yourself from falling asleep.

“Goodnight my lamb.”

The Kim Empire. 

His home, his family, his livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

Yet, the only thoughts that seem to brandish his mind since the young age of 15 are about you. 

When you first stumbled in front of him, carrying a tray of tea. Spilling it all over his shoes. That quick curse that left your lips before looking up at him. The wide, doelike vision you had once recognition had set in. One the realisation of error set into your bones.

He will never forget the way his heart began to race in that very moment. The way he felt a cloth of sickness overcome his whole body at the mere sight of you. Looking so serendipitous below him.

At first he thought it was hate, how silly he had been back then. Ah, the way he sent you to be killed was just funny to him now. He is grateful he talked to his mother before your execution date. Spilling his soul to her, detailing how he could not seem to remove you from his brain.

Ah, he was lucky he managed to get the letter to the executioner in time. What a pity that would be if he couldn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been able to lay next to you now. Wouldn’t be able to play with your hair, caress you like he pleases. 

It is truly too bad that was not his only trial on the road towards you. It was really a pity he had to send Jungkook away. Taehyung quite liked the kid. He was fun to play with and wouldn’t shy away from his games. 

But he just had to try and seduce you. Poor thing. You really were too innocent at the time. More than eager to kiss him for no reason. To give him even a peace of your heart that was meant for Taehyung alone.

He remembers as clear as day, the rage he felt as he watched your soft lips press against another mans. How terribly he wanted to go out and strike Jungkook with a sword. Of course he didn’t though, that would have scared you away. He would have hated that.

He thanks god every day he was really your first kiss, even if you didn’t know it. 

Patiences was the hardest battle of all, and he will admit, he has faltered a few times over the years. Kisses stolen while you sleep, a few of your belongings robbed to keep him satiated. Mayhaps a few trips to your room in the night. 

But who could blame him? He was a man in love. There was nothing that could stop him when he was so hungry for you. 

Ah, and then of course his father. He wanted to separate your love as well. A maid could never possibly be suited to be queen, blah blah. He doesn’t care. And at least that fight allowed him to hug you for the first time. 

God. You felt so perfect in his arms, then and now. You have always been meant for this. Meant for him.

If his father plans to keep standing in the way, he will simply have to remove him from the equation. His bonds to the man are as thick as water. He cares more for you than he possibly could anyone else.

You’ve belonged to him since you were born, anyway. If a maid becomes pregnant while working for the castle, her child becomes property of the state. Of the crown. Of him. 

It only makes sense that you are meant to be with him until death. It is the path lined for you. Your fate since birth. 

He knows it as his delicate fingers trace over the small patches of blood dirtying the sheets. Evidence of the hours before, of your virginity robbed. Of your promises to him.

You are bound to him by blood after all.

© all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

[pillowspace]

Thinking about how Charlotte Emily most likely regularly hung out with the Aftons.

William comes downstairs at 9 in the morning to see Charlie and Elizabeth with empty teacups and a teapot, and is just like, ah. Of course. Little girls love tea parties, but indulges them anyway like "what are you two up to?" Elizabeth immediately lights up. "Charlie said that we should play British People 'cause we're British!" William, now a bit more confused, "...ah. I see." Elizabeth, "oh won't you join us? Pretty please?" Charlie then pipes in that she had also asked Mike, but that he had very unfortunately said no, because "Liz plays too mean." Elizabeth, "I do not, you're just too scared to lose!" Michael, "I can't fucking lose at 'British People.'"

Charlie and Elizabeth do atrocious things to their dolls. Drama. Tragedy. They always clash on the endings though, as Charlie wants their dolls fo have a happy end while Elizabeth wants their dolls to have an even worse end

Michael doesn't know Charlie's staying over, and brings home his schoolmates one day. William Frowns TM like "I tried to tell you Henry was dropping off Charlotte today, but you were already halfway out the door." Michael later re-enters the room to find his schoolmates picking on Charlie and pulling at her hair. The closest Michael ever feels to peace is when he's with the Emilys, so he immediately spirals at the sight like, "oh god, if Uncle Henry finds out I brought people over who hurt his daughter, he might not bring her over anymore. What do I do then? What do I do if he stops liking me?" He quickly shoos off his friends, going "dude! She's a guest, leave her be" while Charlie recovers. Before he too can follow after them, Charlie asks Michael if he'll draw with her. He hesitates. The Emilys are the closest he ever gets to peace, so he agrees and sits down to draw. "What are you drawing, Char?" "Marionette!" "'S that the creepy thing that's always watching the guests come and go at Freddy's?" "He's not creepy, he's my friend. Dad made him for me :(" "ahh. You know, my father's been building something for Liz too." "You think that it'll protect her like Marionette protects me?" "Maybe."

Charlie notices how anxious CC always seems to be, and declares one day that she'll keep him safe. She makes him a drawing of them both holding hands, and gives it to him so that he may always look upon it and know that Charlie's rooting for him. He nearly bursts into tears at the kind gesture. The whole household tries to be nicer to each other whenever Charlie's around, but CC tells her about Michael's behaviour to him. Knowing how weak Michael is to her, Charlie gives Michael a look while he's grabbing cereal the next morning like "you should be nicer to your brother. He's just a little kid." Michael immediately pauses, then awkwardly closes the cupboard like "ummm. Okay." Not wanting to use Charlie as a means to make fun of CC, he just never brings the interaction up afterwards

The Emily and Afton families joining together are constantly filled with different forms of jealousy from the Aftons. William, he's jealous of Henry. Michael, he's jealous of Charlie's positive relationship with her father. CC, he's jealous of how Michael seems to like Charlie so much more than him. Elizabeth doesn't even notice her own jealousy, but deep down, Charlie's completely peaceful household... confuses her. She rationalizes the lack of favouritism or hostility as it only stemming from Charlie being an only child, rather than Henry's good parenting. Being so young as well as being the perfect golden child, Elizabeth doesn't know how to express doubt in her father. Clearly, it must be her siblings doing something wrong if Charlie and Uncle Henry are doing so well on their own!

After CC's death, the house is filled with an unbreakable tension. It's grief. It's guilt. Michael and his schoolmates completely cut ties after what happened. And as always, the Emilys feel so separate from the tension of his own home. Michael starts talking to Charlie more frequently, more often at Henry's house rather than his own. He tries not to, or at least usually tries to hide first, but he accidentally has a complete breakdown in the living room one time. Charlie hums a soothing lullaby to him until Henry eventually comes back, notices the state Michael's in, and takes over calming him down while sending Charlie off to do some other seemingly helpful task. After Elizabeth's death, Michael only really has the Emilys left. Charlie stops just being his source of peace, and becomes his best friend. His only friend. Then after Charlie's death...

It's rather lonely all of a sudden.

Later, years later, when Michael's flesh is rotting on his bones and everything is just about to finally be done with, he sits down on the edge of a cheap creaky stage he bought, and lightly knocks his knuckles against Lefty's calf. "Charlie? Can you hear me alright? It's Michael ... I'm sorry. I know I never acted like it, but... for what it's worth... you were my best friend back then. ...Whatever's beyond this, would you like to be friends again there too?"

[pennyblossom-meta]

L Lawliet: a deep dive into the expanded universe pt.01

EDIT (07/04/2024): Added some imgs.

Apologies for being so late to give this a follow up to @maevearcher's meta which can be found here and here. As usual, she’s made excellent points and I'll try to answer the ones which caught my eye.

Since this post ended up gaining a life of its own and becoming a bit too long, I’m splitting it in 2 or 3 parts. The core of the content for part 01 starts after under the button to Read More.

Here we talk about L's humanity.

I'll start with a disclaimer of my own: while I consider the manga as the base for the story, I'm very much open to the expanded DN universe as a complementary study of the characters and their motivations — sometimes even filling in the blanks for some of the background mysteries, such as the dynamics of Wammy's House and how L's successors view him.

To further clarify: by canon I mean the manga and any works by Tsugumi Ohba as the base material. I think @maevearcher and I are more or less in agreement on that, from what she mentioned in her own posts. As she said, the written word is indeed the baseline truth.

The expansion of the DN universe also has its own very special set of problems; for example, in many ways, L:CtW (L: Change the WorLd) commits the sin of overindulgence by throwing in considerations that, arguably, go against canon. Besides the ending where L lives for a final 23 days and Watari dies, the portrayal of Near in the movie (though in the novel he's also walking a fine line between becoming partially and very much OOC) is also a point of contention. I confess that I really wasn't fond of the way they portrayed Misa as a potential crush of L given canon insights on his opinion about Light whether in the role of Kira or as a person (pg.64 of Vol 13: How to Read, henceforth referred to as V13:HTR), but aligning L to become more humane and forgiving was at least interesting.

The same happens with the live action movies, the 2015 series, and the musical. At least the game Spiraling Trap isn't clashing with canon elements — that I could tell. The main plot is separate from the events of DN and the dating sim is a little slice of heaven into L's thoughts and emotions which I dearly love.

However, while L:CtW does indeed overindulge, the novel AN:LABB (Another Note: LA BB Murder Cases) gives us a singular glimpse into L through the eyes of Mello while keeping the events mostly accurate to the main plot, even with its slight deviations. It's certainly an optional perspective to the core of DN, but one that I always found very insightful. In V13:HTR, Obha mentions how he would’ve liked that there were more novels about L and how he solved previous cases, in a similar fashion to how Nisio Isin approaches AN:LABB. Here’s what Ohba says in pg.61 of V13:HTR:

(...) I didn’t think up much for [L’s] past. For him to be in such an influential position, he must have solved an amazing amount of cases, but I have no idea what kind of cases they were or how he solved them. But I would love for NISIOISIN, who wrote the Death Note novel, to write more stories about that (...)

This means that, to some extent, even the original author, Ohba, accepts AN:LABB as close to canon — or rather, as canon as it can get given the creative liberties allowed to a third party writer. To that point, Nisio Isin took L’s capoeira demonstration during the Yotsuba arc and made it a whole thing in the novel, with L taking inspiration from Naomi Misora’s skills. However, given the importance of that event, in the main story, L takes a while to even remember Misora so we can infer that either the stress of the case is getting to him OR learning capoeira and subsequently Misora’s role in it didn’t leave that much of an imprint on him because true canon didn’t really put that much emphasis into it. Either way, it’s an extrapolation that works. The technicalities can be overlooked given how ambiguous the scene is, as there is more than room to deduce a different past.

At the same time, I am an apologist that there are shared characteristics to L throughout the different mediums. My own interpretation of L's character has the manga as a baseline, but the expanded universe has taught me that there are sides to him that might not be so easy to perceive in dialogue bubbles or illustrations alone. Little things like L's addictive personality or the way he represses feelings are visible in the manga but caught beautifully in the novels, for example.

Going from the written word into the screen also represents a loss of the purity achievable only within the narrative in-book, where you can extrapolate and reach your own conclusions without being subject to the bias of sound and movement — though manga aggregates the visual to words and with it an altogether different dimension of meaning. That's one of the many things I enjoy about elements of fiction introduced through books; the stillness of the images and the narrative are more complex. Every time the baseline gets adapted, it loses something or that something shifts to fit into the perception of others. It ceases being pure and its essence is fundamentally shattered. Like the concept of a musical score on paper that gets played by an orchestra, there will never be an adaptation as good as the source material because it breaks the illusion.

While I can certainly extrapolate and accept the loss, I find that the written word from the novels, the tone of a VA's voice and the body movements in a live action still complement the manga well, despite narrative clashes.

About L’s humanity

Recently I've been re-watching the anime and it's incredible how Alessandro Juliani's understanding of the character resulted in such a well-rounded voice for L. I actually prefer the EN version to the JP because of the voice acting. It's superbly brilliant, even if L becomes less listless. He's certainly still aloof, but his aggressiveness is portrayed more vividly; in contrast, L in the manga feels a bit more dangerous and scary to me due to the range of expressions that the anime didn't manage to add in due to time and budget constraints. If anything L tones down how dangerous he can be. He does this on purpose so that he can trick and trip his adversary, as can be seen during his earlier interactions with Light. At times, L makes a mockery of himself, apparently placing himself in the position of a more demure individual while sharply observing the world around him and forming conclusions.

As to @maevearcher ‘s first point:

(...) An image of this lonely autistic genius, locked inside the confines of his ways, waiting for the right person to come along and save him from the banes of his solitary existence…until he meets Light and realises there’s someone out there who he can relate to, for understanding and stuff. I personally don’t buy too much into that.

The depth to which L relates to Light can be overestimated, but not without reason. Theirs is mostly an adversarial relationship with varying deviations throughout the expanded universe, but if we solely consider the manga then we get this comment from Ohba regarding whether L has any friends on pg.64 of V13: HTR:

Nope. And when he says that Light is his first friend that’s a big lie. He never considers him a friend. He probably secretly thinks really negative things about him.

During the Yotsuba arc, L is at a disadvantage. Light has turned the tables, tricked him into what Beyond Birthday could not do and thus gained a solid position into rendering L almost powerless to charge him. To elaborate on the latter point: BB wanted to create the perfect, unsolvable crime to humiliate L, making him lose, and thus “spend the rest of his life trembling in fear of B’s shadow” (pg.163, AA:LABB); L would know who the guilty party was but wouldn’t be able to prove it or bring that person to justice. As such, L would not be able to solve the mystery. At the end of the novel BB fails due to Misora’s quick thinking and that’s that. However, Light has several advantages that BB lacked, starting with his own social position, charm and the impeccable reputation of a model student and the prized son of a police chief who helps solve cases every now and then.

We can argue that, what truly happens in manga canon, is L and Light showing how much they respect each other for their detective skills, forming a sort of strange kinship within the cat and mouse game, especially when Light loses his memories of the Death Note. The game thrills them and they enjoy pushing each other’s buttons. No one else has ever challenged them like this. That being said, the first time they meet up for coffee after the tennis match, L is observing Light like a hawk, keeps testing him for a reaction and seems somewhat irritated at how much Light talks. I would venture a guess that L doesn’t actually like Light that much, even when he loses his memories. He might even find Light a nuisance when he waves the flag of morality — though this is a common problem L is confronted with when dealing with the Task Force, in particular Chief Yagami and Aizawa. This also places him at another gruesome disadvantage, as he’s surrounded by people who openly dislike and criticise his methods. The Task Force is also extremely wary of the way L pursues Light and think he’s being stubborn without proof to substantiate his reasoning. Ironically, it’s Aizawa, one of L’s most critical subordinates, who initiates Light’s downfall years later once he starts to consider L’s suspicions in light of Near and Mello’s tactics. 

Both L and Light respect the game, no matter where it takes them. I would further make an educated guess that Light even preyed on L’s vulnerabilities during the Yotsuba arc, predicting how L might fall into depression for failing at the game. Light was more than capable of understanding that L’s competitive and childish side would make him a sore loser, especially given that he had already “lost” the first round of battles just by showing his face. Even if there is a sliver of friendship between both during Light’s months of amnesia, it’s dead and buried the moment he becomes Kira again. 

My conclusion here would be that, while what happened with Light was extreme, it was also somewhat similar to Beyond Birthday’s eternal enmity towards L: the challenge, the need to humiliate and take down the greatest detective, one of the most brilliant minds to ever walk the Earth. There are some notable quotes from AA:LABB that reference what it is to be L, surrounded by future challengers and individuals who both look up to L and want to prove they’re better than him:

Pg.69

By simple arithmetic, L's ability in 2002 was the equivalent of five ordinary investigative bureaus, and seven intelligence agencies (and by the time he faced off against Kira, those numbers had leapt upward several more notches). This is easy to think of as a reason to respect and admire someone, but let me say this as clearly as possible: that much ability in one human is extremely dangerous. Modern danger management techniques rely heavily on diffusing the risk, but his very existence was the exact opposite. In other words, if someone was planning to commit a crime, they could greatly increase their chances of getting away with it by simply killing L before they began. That was why L hid his identity Not because he was shy or because he never left the house. To ensure his own safety For a detective of L's ability, self-preservation and the preservation of world peace were one and the same, and it would not be correct to describe his actions as cowardly or self-centered.

Pg. 117

L was the goal of everyone in Wammy's House. Everyone of us wanted to surpass him. To step over him. To step on him. M did, N did, and B did. M as a challenger, N as a successor. B as a criminal.

Pg. 160:

B approached Naomi Misora, calling himself Rue Ryuzaki. Rue Ryuzaki - L.L.  For anyone from Wammy's House, there could be no higher goal than identifying yourself with that letter - and Beyond Birthday seized this case as his chance.

One of the biggest problems with these quotes is that they paint a very complicated — and, ultimately, suffocating — picture of what it is like to be L. Ohba himself mentions Watari’s predisposition towards collecting geniuses from all over the world and what Wammy’s House has turned into, under the snippet for Watari’s character (pg.60 V13:HTR):

He’s a guy who cultivates detectives for fun. That’s kind of terrible, isn’t it?

Everyone profits from L. Watari becomes richer than ever. Wammy's House becomes breeding ground for geniuses who end up dreaming of a life where they enjoy constant thrill and challenge. However, in order to do so, the dream cannot be complete until the successor crushes the original; until M, N, B and A defeat L. At least one of L’s successors couldn’t handle the pressure and committed suicide. B, known as Backup, runs away from the orphanage and goes on a murder rampage. Having never met L in person, he deduces several personality quirks that the “original” demonstrates, going as far as exacerbating them in order to be creepy and repulsive. Mello, who boasts of having met L in person and being privy to stories about how he defeated several other detectives (then taking their aliases as a trophy) both fervently admires L and wants to step on him. 

Step on him. That’s quite the turn of phrase. It does sound scary, doesn’t it? To be surrounded by people who would take the opportunity to pull you down, no matter how much they admire you. They want to be you, to prove that they’re better than you. It’s game and ego. Life and death. Winner and loser. 

And that’s perhaps the most blatant summary in approved canon of what it is like to be L that we’ll ever get. We can, of course, argue that Watari cares about L. He’s not only his handler, but also the one who brought him into Wammy’s House. It’s fairly clear that he nurtured (and even enabled) some of L’s most distressing character traits, though I wouldn’t necessarily say it was with a purely utilitarian agenda. It’s perfectly acceptable to extrapolate how Watari might’ve wanted to keep L, a child of great intellectual genius, happy by allowing him to be challenged and properly educated. In fact, AN:LABB (pg. 145-46) even gives us L’s perspective on the kindness that justice can achieve, which is confirmed within the expanded universe to be similar to Watari’s teachings as L confronts Kujo in L:CtW. 

"I have nothing to do with him," L said. "To be completely accurate, I do not even know B. He is simply someone I am aware of. But none of this affects my judgment. Certainly I was interested in this case, and began to investigate it because I knew who the killer was. But that did not alter the way I investigated it, or the manner in which my investigation proceeded. Naomi Misora, I cannot overlook evil. I cannot forgive it. It does not matter if I know the person who commits evil or not. I am only interested in justice." "Only... in justice... " Misora gasped. "Then ... nothing else matters?" "I wouldn't say that, but it is not a priority." “You won't forgive any evil, no matter what the evil is?" "I wouldn't say that, but it is not a priority." "'But..." Like a thirteen-year-old victim. "There are people who justice cannot save." Like a thirteen-year-old criminal. “And there are people who evil can save." "There are. But even so," L said, his tone not changing at all. As if gently admonishing Naomi Misora. “Justice has more power than anything else." "Power? By power ... you mean strength?" "No. I mean kindness." He said it so easily. Misora almost dropped the phone. L The century's greatest detective, L. The detective of justice, L. Who solved every case, no matter how difficult... " ...I misunderstood you, L." "Did you? Well, I'm glad we cleared that up."

I would, once again, venture another educated guess that, while Watari’s primary reasons for starting a program of successors to L was noble, it ultimately backfired on an individual level. Society wise, the letters, as L calls them in L:CtW, are a force for good. They solve crimes, help law forces around the world to keep peace. Some of them even become scientists like Dr Kujo — though she becomes the main antagonist in the spin-off novel. However, the pressure this kind of lifestyle fostered creates a group of individuals who are highly competitive and manipulative. Some, like A, can’t handle it. Even L has his own troubles, being called a reclusive sociopath, possibly by the police forces who treat him as a utility rather than a person. He’s someone they admire and resent, who is tolerated given how effective he is at cracking down cases. 

This passage from L:CtW paints a grim picture of the way L suppresses his own feelings as he breaks down for not being able to prevent Maki from being kidnapped (pg. 150-51):

"Light...it hurts. My heart--" It was a hurt that L Lawliet had suppressed, that he had to suppress in order to continue his existence as the peerless Detective L. How had the world's top detective been described in regard to facets of his personality rather than his ability as a detective? He had been called a kinky detective who relished bizarre murders, a human computer capable only of measuring mass murders in terms of cold numbers, a reclusive sociopath. What L thought of such estimations of his personality only L could know. But no one could truly understand L. How L did not and could not forget the faces of thousands of victims. Who could comprehend the man who had lived his life, and had to live confronting all the lives that ended prematurely, the tears of grief-stricken survivors, the devaluing of life as a daily reality. How was it possible to measure the pain of such a man? Was it a strain so heavy that L's back curved under all its weight? Was it an agony so terribly to leave the indelible dark circles around his eyes? Was it a feeling so bitter that every bite he took needed to be coated in sugar? The chronically rounded shoulders, the inevitable dark circles, the eccentric tastes--L suppressed the pain of being a champion of justice, but the evidence of the pain was moulded into his very body.”

Even within the clear disparity from the official canon, this passage slaps. It humanises L further, making the detective become a person and not just a machine who is content with his lifestyle. I know there’s a tendency for those who prefer the manga to see L as someone who is unabashedly himself and perfectly alright with the life he lives. I would argue that the Kira case was not only the most difficult challenge L ever faced, but also a series of moments where he had to be at his best — and at his worst. He had to do everything within his power to solve the case, not only because of his pride but because of what he considers to be his sense of justice. Saying with such confidence ‘I am justice’ is a rather cheesy and childish thing to say out loud, though I read it as both what started as a child’s stubbornness and what L became, as he positioned himself as a barrier to prevent crimes. 

L suppresses himself, represses his emotions; he tries to control them, as Fu Takashi says in an interview, he is “dependent on games or battles of the mind”. Perhaps this is a consequence of the foundations of his personality. Despite L’s innate stubbornness, it could be argued that this is as much his fault as it is Watari’s, who didn’t nurture L’s social skills as he should have when he was a child. By not having an outlet outside of his hobby, L is trapped in a prison of his own making. Superficially, L is a “smart guy who hates losing”, but what about the rest? What about the things that make him human, the connections with others? In the same interview, it is mentioned how L feels lonely and needs affection. But what affection can you get when you isolate yourself from the world and keep everyone at arm’s length? He’s not a machine. Even machines become obsolete with time, and need outside help to keep functioning.

As for the latter point, if everyone around L is trying to step on him, humiliate him and surpass him, then it’s only natural that his emotional defences would be up. Aside from Watari, whose loyalty he can count on, he’s alone. L has no one else. And everyone around him will have a dangerous, significant probability to betray him.

Next in part 02: About romance, having someone close and intimate, the meaning of the Monster speech.

Tagging @rinneroraito and @sharkiethrts who might be interested in this meta.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

This may be my grief (but it's you who's made a mess of it)

love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here

pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.7k

genre: hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

warnings: reader has a panic attack, there's a lot of blood but it's the clean-up part, Jason is riddled with self-hatred and guilt but he's making progress

a/n: ok enjoy kiss kiss <3

Your heart lurches as you stare at the television, your hands clutching the couch cushions on either side of you as you listen to the presenter on the news station that you'd idly turned on for background noise. He's talking about a current fight, some scuffle between some vigilantes and Two-Face downtown. He mentions Redhood - mentions that he was seen going down during the fight and wasn't seen getting back up again.

Suddenly, the walls of your apartment feel small - too small, closing in on you as the air leaves your lungs in a punched-out gasp. He's not getting up. He's not getting up and he's gone again. You stand abruptly, knocking the TV remote off your lap and letting it clatter to the floor as you begin to pace back and forth in front of your couch, trying desperately to keep listening to the news anchor and what he's saying about the current situation.

Maybe he's wrong, you think desperately. Maybe he's alright and no one really knows what they're seeing. Maybe he's… dead. Maybe he's dead again. Maybe you'll never ever see him again. Maybe you'll have to bury him again.

You drop into a sitting position on the floor ungracefully, leaning against the couch as you reach blindly for the remote, suddenly needing desperately for the news anchor to stop updating you on the situation. You fumble with it once you have it, your hands cold and numb as you turn the television off.

The silence, you realize immediately, is worse

The thought of having to mourn him a second time, you realize, might be more than you can handle.

The city moves outside, cars honking and pedestrians shouting - the normal turmoil of Gotham. You fit right in, you suppose, amongst the panic and the pain and the death that permeates this city. You almost, almost wish you'd left all those years ago when Jason became Robin - when you told him it was a choice that would kill him and you threatened to walk out.

And now, in the dull silence of your apartment, your gaze level with your coffee table that has two empty mugs, you wish that you really had left all those years ago… and you wish that you had never come back.

The thought punches out whatever air is left in your lungs as guilt, cold and heavy and choking, settles in your gut. You bring your hands to your face, digging the heels of your palms into your closed eyes as you try to get a hold of your rattling breathing. You had, at times, considered what your life would be like if you'd never met Jason, or if you moved on and gotten over him after his death - his first death. The thought makes nausea roll through your stomach. Of course, you'd thought about it. But you'd always come to the same conclusion - you were lucky to have met him and to have known him as you did. Even if it meant carrying his ghost with you for the rest of your life, you were blessed to have been loved by him.

Now, though, it doesn't feel like a blessing. Now, it feels like a rotten, undead curse, something dragged up from some unholy pit to pull him away from you again, and again, and again. There is nothing lucky in this life and there is nothing lucky in this love.

A clattering on your balcony rips you from your spiralling thought as your head snaps around to see Redhood heave himself up over the railing, stumbling with fatigue and obvious injury. You lurch to your feet, desperate to get to him, desperate to know he's alive, desperate to stop him from seeing you on the floor of your home, grief-stricken and terrified because of him. 

No, you think. He doesn't need to know about that. And fortunately, he's dazed enough from whatever god-awful fight he was in that he doesn't seem to really notice anything beyond the way you rip the door open and pull him inside, your hands flitting over his armour to gauge his injuries. Not at first, anyway. He lets you sit him on the couch, lets you shush his worries about staining the fabric with his blood. He doesn't consider the fact that your soul is already stained from him. Not yet, at least. 

It's not until his armour is off, sitting in the bathtub and dripping crimson blood onto the white porcelain. It's not until you've checked him over, the large gash along his side cleaned and the blood flow staunched. It's when you begin stitching him up, your hands trembling ever so slightly in a way that sends concern shooting up his spine. It's not concern for himself - he's had you do this countless times, and he's done it to himself with much less finesse even more times. But something wrong - something must be wrong for you to be unsteady, for your shoulders to be tense and your eyes to avoid his. The pain from his side is nearly blinding, but there's nothing that sobers him and centres him as resolutely as you on your knees in front of him and afraid. 

"Baby?" his voice is quiet, the breath leaving his lips in a tired sort of sigh that he can't help.

"Don't distract me," is your only response.

"Talk to me," he pushes in that gentle, guiding way of his.

But you say nothing. The silence drips between the two of you as you tie the last stitch, cutting the thread and rubbing your hands with a towel. Jason makes a mental note to buy you new ones as he watches the white fabric blooming red as you try to scrub the blood off your hands. 

But your skin doesn't come clean. There are places where the blood - his blood has dried around your fingers and you rub the towel on your palms until he reaches out, worried. Then, and only then, does it hit Jason, and he's not sure if it's blood loss or fear and guilt that makes him feel lightheaded.

It's his blood on your hands. And they're not coming clean.

He takes the towel from you gently, tossing it onto the other end of the couch before he grips your hands in his own. He's not sure who's trembling more between the two of you. He's not sure who's more blood-soaked. 

"I saw it on the news," you say quietly as you rub your thumb over the knuckles of Jason's hand. "They said - they said you were dead." Your breath hitches. Jason huffs, tightening his hold on your hands.

"Those reporters don't know what the fuck they're talking about most of the time - you know that, baby. They always get it wrong." He soothes, his voice low as he looks down at you. He's still sitting on the couch while you kneel before him, like an altar of violence that you pray to.

"I know, Jason. I just -" You take a deep, shuttering breath.

"What, baby?"

"I thought I'd lost you… again. I just - I couldn't take it. I couldn't bear it." You laugh, then - a humourless, hysterical sort of thing. "All this time you've spent trying to protect me and you're the thing that ended up hurting me the most and… no, I - Jason, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I was just scared."

But Jason's already lurched away from you, letting go of your hands as if you've burned him and pulling back in a way that stretches his stitches and makes him wince. You, on the floor in front of him, made the infamous Redhood flinch, made him recoil in fear and self-hatred and pain.

"I didn't mean that, Jason," you say again, a firmness in your voice as you surge up onto your knees. Your hands aren't trembling now, he notices distantly, as you lean forward to take his face in your palms and press your forehead against his.

"I hurt you," he says numbly.

"No," you respond instantly. "Life hurt me… life hurt us both. That's not your fault. It's never been your fault."

Jason sighs wearily, letting his head fall forward so that his forehead is resting on your shoulder as his eyes slip closed. There's a dull, throbbing pain in his head and his side aches and he's choking on too much hatred to stop you when you press kisses to his palms and his knuckles and the side of his head that you can reach. 

There is too much weariness in him to stop you from loving him.

"Let's… go to bed," you say quietly, feeling the way he slumps against you as the fatigue begins to take its toll on him. "Come on," you coax. He lets you stand, takes your outstretched hand willingly as you guide him to bed. He lets himself sit on the edge of the mattress heavily, slouched over himself as you sit in front of him, a damp towel in your hands. 

Jason thinks of the irony of it all as he watches you take his hands in yours, wiping the blood from them that you left on him. Granted, it's still his blood, but you're the one who made a mess of it. He thinks of that as you finish cleaning him up, listens to the sounds of you scrubbing your own hands in the bathroom sink as he falls sideways into bed, haphazardly tugging the covers up around him.

When you finally slip into bed next to him, reaching out so that you can cling to him like a lifeline, he wonders if maybe the blood on his hands isn't such a big deal, after all. Maybe it's the blood loss talking, maybe it's the post-fight dizziness muddling his judgement. Or maybe there is something to be said for the two of you cleaning the blood off each other's hands… again and again and again.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hey,

could you please write a Hannibal (platonic) one-shot, where he finally meets Abigails best friend (the reader) and he actually approves of her. Abigail had met her through Dr.Bloom

Hannibal X Platonic!Reader: Friend or foe?

Warnings: fluff, Hannibal being protective of Abigail, no use of y/n, female reader, not proofread.

Word count: 928

Alana had told him wonders about you. She’d told him how good you were with Abigail and how your friendship was helping the girl get through her grief. Abigail never seemed to shut up about you either. Whenever Hannibal paid her a visit she always mentioned to name drap you at some point of the conversation. Even with all the positive words Hannibal had heard about you he couldn’t help but be protective of Abigail. The last time someone had become close to Abigail the girl had ended up dead and her death had sent Abigail spiraling. He didn’t want her to have to deal with anymore death. 

There was also another issue. He knew how desperately Freddie Lounds was trying to get Abigail to tell her story. There was no way to be sure you hadn’t been sent by the journalist as a spy. He wouldn’t put it past Freddie to do something like that. That's why he insisted on meeting you himself. 

“Don’t be mean.”

Hannibal turned to look at Abigail in curiosity.

“When have I ever been mean?”

“You know what I mean. Don’t act all protective and quiet. I don’t want you to scare her off.”

Abigail nibbled at her lower lip, eyes moving to look down at her shoes.

“She’s the only one who hasn;t judged me for being…well you know.”

She didn’t have to finish her sentence Hannibal knew what she meant. Being the daughter of a killer didn’t exactly make you popular, well, at least not in ways you’d want to be popular. Hannibal reached out for Abigail, placing his hand on her shoulder supportively.

“I don’t wish to scare her. I just want to make sure you are safe and that she means well.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

In reality there was no reason for Abigail to worry. The moment Hannibal had seen you standing at the door, Dr. Bloom next to you, a big smile on your face as Abigail pulled you into a hug he knew you were a good person. Dinner only seemed to prove his thoughts. All throughout dinner you and Abigail told him and Alana about all the things the two of you got up to. You laughed as Abigail recorded the time you’d helped her sneak out the wall so that she could go to see Hannibal. And despite the need to reprimand Hannibal once again for her actions he couldn’t help but notice how you were prepared to help Abigail, no matter the consequences. 

After dinner was over you offered to help Hannibal clean up. Despite his attempts to wave off your help you insisted. You were currently with your hands soaked in water, scrubbing at the plates with complete focus. Hannibal could hear Abigails and Alanas voices coming from the dining room but he was completely focused on you. He dried the dishes as you handed them over to him. He walked around the kitchen,placing each thing in the right place.

“You have a lovely house, Dr.Lecter. And Abigail didn’t do justice to just how good your cooking was. Dinner was delicious.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. And just Hannibal is fine.”

You turned to look at him, a smile gracing your lips as you handed him another plate. 

“You’re not as scary as I expected.”

“Oh?”

“Sorry. It’s just that the way Abigail talks about you makes you seem like an overprotective dad.”

Hannibal made a mental note to talk about that with Abigail later.

“Were you expecting claws and fangs?”

You let out a laugh, the sound filling the room and breaking any sort of tension that had once been there. 

“No nothing like that. Actually i don’t really know what i was expecting but whatever it was you surprised me. In a good way I mean. You’re really cool.”

Hannibal raised his brow as your words. You didn’t notice it, far too focused on the stubborn smudge that didn’t seem to wash off no matter how hard you scrubbed. 

“Cool huh?”

“Yeah you know like, old person level cool. I guess you seem wise and cultured.”

Hannibal ignored the fact you’d just called him old, opting to focus on the complements instead.

“You surprised me too.”

“Oh yeah? How so?”

Hannibal went quiet for a moment, trying to put what he thought of you into words. You turned to look at him in expectation. 

“You’re bubbly”

“Bubbly?”

“I think that's the best way to put it. You’re a direct contrast to abigail. She’s always had a somber quality to her.”

He met your gaze giving you a smile.

“You bring out her briter side. It’s a good thing. You’re good for her, i think.”

“She’s a nice girl. It’s not her fault what her father did. And if she helped him or not, well who cares?”

“A lot of people.”

You let out a shrug turning your attention back to the plate in your hand.

“Well, I don't. Can’t judge someone for wanting to survive.”

Hannibal observed you for a moment, watching you in comfortable silence. They had been right about you after all. He felt bad for having doubted their words but now, seeing it for himself, he could tell you were a good person who wanted good things for Abigail. Later that night he and Abigail sat on the sofa, watching some random movie that was passing on TV.

“I like her.”

Abigail turned to look at him. He met her gaze.

“Really?”

“Yes. She’s one of the good ones.”

And he meant it.

[verdemoun]

Fun fact, Kieran may have been originally supposed to live longer, at least judging by his many unused voice lines (found on YouTube) and a longer hairstyle which I actually think looks better for him (found on rdr wiki of cut content). Maybe he was supposed to go to Guarma? The voice lines to me suggested going on hunting missions with him but I’m not too sure.

spoilers. obviously

fun fact i have listened to the 2+ hours of Kieran's cut voice lines so many times even my housemates know it and groan when they walk in and i'm listening to it. Did you know one of his cut voice lines for a near miss in a shootout is 'whoo, nearly took my head off!' to foreshadow his eventual demise? And he has several variations of lines telling Arthur to rest with the gentlest tone suggesting he would have been one of the few characters to show concern for Arthur's illness in later chapters? And slightly less relevant but there is a cut interaction in where he asks Jack to sneak him some food only for Arthur to threaten to kill him BUT CALLING HIMSELF UNCLE KIERAN???

screenshots by cad5150

About Guarma, all but confirmed. Here is one of his cut outfits, which I think very obviously suits the vibe of what most of the gang wore in Guarma like compare it to Micah's Guarma outfit in particular. Additionally he has this hood as an outfit accessory: some people think it was intended that when he rides into camp Horsemen Apocalypse there's a moment of the hood being taken off and then the characters having a much more visceral reaction to his eyes being gauged out but personally I think it makes way more sense that he was meant to be in Banking, the Old American Art 'replacing' Sean as an extra gun. Which would have been really cool because I would have loved a conversation where they bring up they're a gun short and it spiral into more reflection on how they're not just a gun short, they're a man down, they lost the 'joy in their lives' Sean Macguire and they were still hurting instead of just NEVER MENTIONING HIM AGAIN other than a few rare character lines.

Side tangent also his scarf is different in his guarma outfit which is it's own essay because if you're going off the blue high honor red low honor theory this so strong implies we could have seen some really cool character development. looking at what the gang were wearing in banking and then in guarma there's no obvious explanation as to where he got it. how cute would it have been if we got a scene where mary-beth gifted him a scarf?? but the also terrifying implication that we might see kieran become less high honour good boy blorbo to someone a bit more morally ambiguous?

I think the question really is how he would have fit in in Guarma, which of course we will never know and considering how much cut content there is about Guarma. Like everyone else in Guarma makes sense: Dutch's descent into immorality being so clear even Arthur questions it, Bill being the one trusted to look after Javier following his rescue, supporting their friendship in rdr1, Micah reaffirming his position as an actual piece of shit in his lines responding to Hosea and Lenny's deaths and complete lack of empathy. Maybe a kieran who is slightly more ruthless and active in shootouts in guarma but also shows compassion for arthur as arthur gets sick? Maybe the attack on Hanging Dog Ranch was meant to be more a revenge for Kieran's death assuming he was taken and killed similarly to his death in chapter 4 (given how much much foreshadowing there is for his death), but just another misery in chapter 6 that hits harder because we have more time to grow attached and see him develop?

Except. Except then we get to cut outfit kieran.

first. hellooooo sailor. but who is this man. who is this man who looks older. and wears a very, very low honour red scarf. and is obviously dressed still as an outlaw, and didn't go live a happy life with mary-beth. is it. is it possible. kieran was not always meant to be doomed by the narrative??

is it possible we would have seen kieran become more loyal to dutch and micah, true to his army abandoning, gang jumping, choosing to ride with the o'driscolls rather than die, immediately 'loyal' to the vdls despite torture because being alone meant certain death, coward nature? or would he have just been a character john could encounter in the epilogue? perhaps shaken by knowing arthur, as one of his very, very few friends, died trying to be a better person and abandoned any effort to be more than an outlaw?

but. but kieran. shirt all buttoned up. scarf on. thick coat. hair slightly feral and wild. why does it looked like you're all dressed up for the cold, buddy? like- like you might have been hiding out up mount hagen.

[valwrote]

A PREPOSTEROUS PREDICAMENT

pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader

summary: a baker gets framed for a crime she didn't commit. neuvilette comes to her aid as they embark on a crime solving journey full of banter, mysteries and connections.

contains : mention of poisoning, murder and death, usage of she/her pronouns, hurt/comfort if you squint, playful banter, a bit crack energy, neuvillette is such a softie, mentions of voicelines from neuvillette's chatacter quest (no major spoliers), more of a story than a romance based but it has its fluff moments, slight ooc, alot of dividers (sorry), may be incorrect in terms of court proceedings and laws overall because I am not a law student :')

a/n: this was based on @sxttoruu 's idea. thank you for inspiring me to write something. This isn't as romantic because I want to keep it realistic as people who are getting to know each other closely for the first time don't immediately fall in love. Enjoy!

p.s. italics are for flashbacks or events that have already taken place.

not proof read.

w/c: 4.5k words

I heard they were enemies turned lovers."

“Rotten to the core!”

“You are the murderer!”

Neuvilette has beheld this sight yet again. His deep hues gently rested their gaze on the commotion before him. Despite upholding his position as the Ludex of the Fontaine Court – it seemed nothing more than a theatre segment. 

Recently, cases were mundane and yawn-evoking. Lady Furina had attained severe apathy towards all conflicts. 

However, one thing which had created the slightest amusement in his life was one bakery and perhaps the best bakery in the Court of Fontaine region. The owner was a kind soul with the brightest smile and the sweetest loaves of bread in her arsenal. That baker was Y/N.

Though Neuvillette never exchanged words with her, that smile was enough to brighten his day. The bakery was always bustling with not a single moment of solitude. Many asked the secret behind these one-of-a-kind baked goods, to which she would always reply with “Love.”

Yet things spiralled into turmoil on one faithful day.

It was the 50th anniversary of Fontaine’s most prosperous business company. Mr Cornielle was a reputed man with expertise in his niche. He had commissioned the baker as his caterer for the occasion, to which the baker complied.

The party was a grand set-up. Fontaine’s most influential people had been invited as the guests but would be deemed incomplete without the Ludex and the Archon herself.

The blissful environment with bubbling refreshments was a sight to behold. Neuvilette acquainted himself with few folks, yet his eyes drifted across the room, searching for something or perhaps someone.

Was it the baker he sought? He didn’t know himself. Neuvillette constantly had his head boggled with numerous unanswered questions that he kept to himself. Yet it was unequivocal that the baker piqued his interest. Neuvillette just couldn’t pinpoint the reason.

The laughter that surged through the hallways turned into chaos and screams of distress as the host. Mr Cornielle crashed to the floor, mid-conversation, seemingly foaming at his mouth. 

“Everyone, please remain quiet and step away from the victim,” Neuvillette spoke up, creating distance between the guests and the fallen man. “Such gal! To commit such a heinous crime that to in my presence. The perpetrator must not fear anything.” Lady Furina marvelled at the audacity of the offender while taking in the situation up-front.

Neuvillette brushed over her antics and turned to face the person conversing with the victim before the incident, his eyes searching for answers.

“He was talking about the company and its achievements while sipping on the wine before…this.” The person in question stammered out, shaken from the whole ordeal. 

“Anything else?” 

“Well, he was taste-testing the delicacies before the wine.”

Gasps erupted from the crowd as the heads turned towards the baker, who tended to the service trays. Y/N lifted her head, a sweet and proud smile dancing across her lips that soon disappeared after noticing all the eyes on her.

 “She did it! She killed Mr Cornielle.”

 “Arrest her!”

 “Lady Furina, do something!?”

“Seize her,” Furina spoke up, pointing at the baker, whose eyes had widened like saucers. “No, please! I didn’t do anything, I swear! Don’t take me away!” The baker's pleas received no sympathy as the guards dragged her away. She could hear the murmurs amongst the crowd.

“Such heinous act.”

“Wonder if all those years of goodwill were a mere facade?”

The baker’s head hung low from shame. “I have failed you, father.” she grieved and was taken away from the scene.

The stage lights flashed open, highlighting the accused. Trials in Fontaine are like drama, is a saying that lived up to its name. 

“Charges have been pressed against the baker regarding murder through poisoning. All shreds of evidence are in opposition to the condemned. Would the accused like to speak up for themselves?” Neuvillette’s voice bellowed throughout the hall as all eyes narrowed at the person in the middle.

“I didn’t do it, I swear!” the baker pleaded.

“Nonsense! Who else would dare poison such an influential man?”

“I would like everyone to maintain the decorum of the court.” Neuvillette commented. “As all evidence seems to line up against Ms Y/N. I hereby declare her guilty until further investigation on this matter. Guards to escort her to the Fortress of Meropide. The court is adjourned.”

The rainfall after that trial was full of doubt, leaving a gloomy aftermath.

“Oh! hydrodragon, hydrodragon. Please don’t cry.”

The Fortress of Meropide, in all its grandeur, was the last place the baker wanted to be in. She longed for the bright sun and brisk winds. The cold shackles clung to her hardworking palms as she sat behind bars. It was not long before footsteps echoed down the dark hallways. She could make out a faint outline of a familiar silhouette.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” the baker croaked out. She could see the Ludex of Fontaine in all his glory right in front of her eyes. An aura of authority followed him. The baker found her words stuck in her throat.

“I want the truth.” He said, getting straight to the point.

“I didn’t do it. I made those dishes with my own two hands. I swear upon my father’s legacy that I lack the spine to commit such a felony.” The baker stated without a single falter. Neuvillette seemed pleased with the answer. He admired the baker’s willpower to stand up for herself. Humans were unpredictable.

“Answer this. If given a chance, would you do anything to prove your innocence?” He asked that question. Humans were peculiar in terms of communication. One word may sting them to their core, while the other may send them over the moon.

“You are going to grant that baker a monitored bail?” Furina asked, baffled.

“Yes. I hope you don’t object to my actions, Lady Furina.” Neuvillette nodded, reinforcing his previous statement.

“But why? All the attestations are against her?”

“...” Neuvillette remained silent before getting up and leaving.

“HEY! NEUVILLETTE! Where are you going!?” He could hear the last of her words before exiting the room.

You will see much in the human world, from the delightful to the depressing. One day, when you have dwelled amongst humanity long enough, you will bring judgment as a spokesperson for Fontaine’s past.

Those words made Neuvillette question his emotions. He was in a battle between his sense of justice and morality. Part of him couldn’t accept the baker as the culprit. There had to be something that was missing. Something purposefully hidden from the public.

“I will. Anything to prove my innocence.” the baker affirmed his question. Neuvillette had to suppress the smile threatening to show itself. “Very well. Then, I shall grant you a monitored bail during the next hearing.” He spoke, maintaining the formality in his tone before turning around to leave.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Monseiur, who will monitor me?”

“Ah yes, That would be me.”

"As per the law, a person without a lawyer has two choices. Either get a government-assigned lawyer to defend them or fight for their case themselves." The Court was crowded and bustling. It irked Neuvillette just a bit. To these people, trials were drama shows they could flock to. Neuvillette never liked trials being dramatic affairs in his time as the Chief Justice.

"How would the accused like to defend their stead?"

"I will fight my case myself." Y/N spoke up, slight uncertainty in her tone.

"Is that woman crazy?'

"No way. This case keeps getting interesting!"

The cacophony of mockery and laughter made her confidence plummet to the ground. It was hopeless. How could she possibly fight her case alone? She should go with the lawyer.

"Granted. You have two weeks to gather evidence to prove your innocence under a monitored bail. If you fail, life imprisonment for homicide will be your sentence.”

"You will be monitoring me, Monsieur?!"

"Yes. Any objections?" 

"No, just why?"

Neuvillette remained silent. He seemed to be threading his words carefully.

"....to find answers to certain questions. So far, morality is winning."

"Huh?" The baker tilted her in his cryptic response.

"Nothing. The hearing will begin at 8 a.m. sharp. Be punctual."

"The Court is adjourned."

Y/N stood in the now-empty courtroom before she spotted Neuvilette approach her. “Here, this should help you on this journey of fighting for your innocence.” He handed her the book and bid her farewell. Y/N brought the book closer to her face to analyse it better.

GUIDE TO CONDUCTING INVESTIGATIONS AS A NOVICE.

ANYONE CAN FOLLOW THIS QUICK AND EASY GUIDE!

Y/N blinked in utter confusion before chuckling at his antics. 

STAGE 1: FAMILIARIZING YOURSELF WITH THE PAST

Additional: Familiarize yourself with the Chief Justice.

The clock was now ticking.

The investigation had kicked off. Y/N found herself more immersed in her thoughts. She was digging out potential clues and links. Delving deep into Mr. Cornielle’s past gave her an insight into the whole matter. Who was he meeting? What were his plans? Which people did he get into a disagreement with often? All questions seemed to answer themselves one by one.

Y/N sat in her room, deep in thought. She was under house arrest as of now. Neuvillette would accompany her around when she was outside. When busy, she would just hang out in his office. Y/N had developed a sense of truth when it came to Neuvillette. He had certainly earned it with his actions. He was a man clouded with mystery.

Though, he did seem to have a strange liking towards melusines and magic shows. She found that endearing about him. Neuvillette was a man, gentle and poise, gracing every place he went to. Though he was a dork when it came to said things.

He would mutter curses each time his hair or robe got stuck in one of the chairs. He tended to be a food critic. He may be polite about it, but he wasn't the best at hiding that he disliked dry food. If the food wasn't wet, he didn't want it. Both of them had grown to appreciate the other’s company.

"If my memory serves me right, Mr Cornielle in a political rivalry with Mr Etienne? They both clash heads. Their history is notorious among the locals. He can be a potential suspect."

"I have worked for that Etienne fellow. Before I started my business as an independent baker, I used to work for him to earn my daily meals. I knew that man is never up to any good. I have heard him threaten to kill Mister Corneille on multiple occasions."

"That is a big lead. You can work on that and visit the crime scene to scope the evidence."

"Wait. Are you helping me, Monsieur?" she mused- a smirk creeping onto her face.

"No. I am mere brainstorming. All the brains applied here are yours. I am simply giving my input."

"Uh-huh..."

"The investigators found a discarded poison vial. It had moisture on its exterior. From the taste of the water, it must've been transported here from Sumeru to Fontaine's port."

"I see. That can be a big clue if we find the receipt- wait, did you say– from the taste of the water??"

"..."

"Monsieur Neuvillette, are you implying that you licked the bottle and figured out it came from Sumeru? More importantly, how do you even know the difference between the waters of different nations?!"

"I think Lady Furina is calling me. Farewell."

"You aren’t denying that you licked the bottle! HEY! COME BACK! I NEED ANSWERS!"

STAGE 2: GOING TO THE CRIME SCENE 

Additional: Getting jump scared and falling into a secret room only to get spooked again.

Y/N felt like she was an incarnation of Sherlock Holmes. She kept inspecting every surface for potential clues, scoping out corners in classic detective fashion. She couldn’t spot anything connected to the crime. That was until she entered the changing rooms. Something didn’t seem right to her. She didn’t put anything in the delicacies. It must’ve been one of the waiters who must’ve tinkered with the food.

The room was dimly lit and elegant. The lockers were neat and had mirrors on the end of the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“You are supposed to inform me before wandering off by yourself. Might I remind you that you are still under monitored bail,” Neuvillette approached her from behind. Y/N, startled by his appearance, lost her footing and fell towards the mirror. To their shock, the mirror flipped open. She crashed into a dark, dusty room.

“Are you okay?” Neuvillette asked with worry before entering the room behind the mirror. It was hard to make out what was in there.

“I am okay.” She groaned before opening the flashlight. The room was empty. She walked a bit further, swaying the flashlight left-right to emit any corner hiding some clue. She spotted what seemed to be an identification sigil. 

“Monsieur, I found something.” 

“Hm? What is it?” Neuvillette approached her and inspected the sigil. “It is a Fatui sigil. One which operatives use.” She made a mental note of it and flashed her flashlight up ahead, only to meet a horrifying sight that made her shriek and cling to Neuvillette’s tall stature. He was startled as well. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Up ahead! It’s a man tied up.”

The statement raised his guard as he took the flashlight and pointed it straight. It was a man tied up with ropes and a gag in his mouth. He seemed to be unconscious and only in his underwear. “I would like to propose a theory.” He started. “It would appear that the culprit caught his man and disguised themselves as a waiter to sneak into the party undetected.” 

“That can be a possibility. After all, I did suspect that one of the waiters messed with the food.”

“I will call the concerned authorities to get this man to a doctor. You can get off me now. I never knew you so easily frightened.” Neuvillette mused. He thought he had been amidst humans long enough to know about their behaviour. However, every time, a new antic would reveal itself.

“Scared? Me? Of course not! I was just making sure you weren’t scared!” She defensively retorted.

“By clinging on to me for dear life? How so?” Neuvillette mused at her.

“How about we save the man in bondage first?” She brushed over his question and changed the topic. Neuvillette chose not to pry further and left to call for assistance.

STAGE 3: ONE CLUE LEADS TO ANOTHER

Additional: Quality bonding time with the Ludex.

“I am not fighting a Fatui Operator. I am a baker! Do you expect me to fight someone with a baguette!?” Y/N gaped at him.

“If you fight with a baguette or any pastry for that matter, the Operator will first chuckle at your antics and then proceed to dispose of you,” Neuvillette stated the obvious and kept walking straight. Mont Esus East was a mountainous terrain. The walking made the baker’s leg feel like jellies.

“How much longer do we have to walk!” She whined and stopped walking. “A bit more. Don’t give up now. We can’t let this turn into a futile attempt.” Neuvillette ushered her to keep going. After traversing for what felt like an eternity, they spotted a small camp. 

“Okay. Monsieur, I am serious. How are we going to fight those tough guys.” Y/N patiently waited for him to explain his plan, but nothing came. “We go and engage in battle. It is a straightforward plan.” Neuvillette began approaching the camp. He didn’t strike her as someone who could fight off bad guys. She watched as Neuvillette made quick work of the Operators.

“Woah- you don’t come off as someone who can brawl!” Y/N marvelled, her eyes twinkling in admiration. 

“I don’t recall ever reading about a judge who can fight.” Neuvillette shrugged.

“You are right, Monsieur. The stereotype of all judges being oldies is quite common among people. No offence.”

“Offence taken.”

“What? HEY! We both know I was joking!” Y/N quickly replied. She didn’t want to anger him unintentionally.

“So was I.”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind,” Neuvillette sighed. It appeared to him that he had to work on his people skills. The baker brushed over the awkward atmosphere and examined the records inside the camp. There were all sorts of legal documents. Old, damp or torn, you name it.

“Gosh, so hard to make out what exactly is written on these.” The baker rummaged through the piles of paper only to find a slightly torn document. It was from a small-scale herbal pharmacy in Sumeru. The document talked about a poison capable of killing someone in under a minute. What stood out the most was the signature at the bottom of the recipient.

“This is it. That is no doubt Etienne’s signature.” Neuvillette spoke, seeing the document himself. 

“Let’s go. We must show this to everyone.” 

“Not so fast. Night has caved in. We should stay here and leave tomorrow at sunrise.” He quickly shunned her advances.

“But Monsieur!”

“No buts.” He remained firm on his decision. Had it been just him, he would’ve departed despite the darkness, but now, with a person by his side, he felt responsible for their safety and chose prevention instead.

Silence engulfed the camp before the baker spoke, “It's funny how quickly people change opinions. All this time, I have done nothing but feed people and bring smiles to their faces, yet I got accused of something I didn’t do. People can be so shallow.” Neuvillette’s gaze soften. He understood the feeling of becoming an outcast better than anyone. “I agree.”  

“Monsieur, why are you helping me?” 

“I apologise if it comes off as something I am doing for my gain, but I am doing this to help you. I can’t explain it, but some part of me kept telling me that there is more than what meets the eye and that I must delve deeper. As the Chief Justice, I can’t afford to be shallow and only go off based on what I see. There is always more to the truth than rumours and gossip.” Neuvillette voiced his reasoning. He could hear hiccups from the baker, an indication of tears.

His heart ached. This situation was Neuvillette’s flaw. He always seemed to get emotionally affected by the plight of people. “I am aware that I am not in a position to say this, but you are worth fighting for. Everyone is. Each individual deserves a chance.” He wasn’t the best when it came to comforting people. He could only try. 

“Y-you think so? I don’t know how I will rebound from this incident. My business will be in shambles. I won’t be able to fulfil my promise to my father.” she wiped her tears away. “I may not be the best at giving solutions, but if you trust my judgement, I’d like to quote, “When there is a will, there is a way.” That captures my advice for you.” Neuvillette mustered his best uplifting tone, a contrast to his usual authoritative one. 

“Thank you." The baker paused before continuing, "Oh! Look, it’s raining.” The baker pointed out. “Apologies, this is going to be an inconvenience tomorrow.” Neuvillette sighed. 

“Why are you sorry, Monsieur?” 

“No reason.”

The baker sighed. Neuvillette was a tough one to figure out.

“Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry.” The baker muttered under her breath, which caught his attention. “You believe in that local legend as well? I don’t get why people think that the hydro dragon weeps. Perhaps he gets stirred by all the tears that fall on this land.” Neuvillette pondered about the legend in slight exasperation.

The baker chuckled at him. “Perhaps people think that the hydro dragon deserves comfort as well.” 

Monsoon had dawned upon Fontaine. 

"When is this rain going to stop?"

"My vacation plans are spoilt."

Neuvillette could hear them all. A solemn feeling engulfed him as the raindrops collided with the floor, creating pitter-patter Sorrows, grievances, questions, mysteries and conflicts, all get washed away with the flowing waters.

The human world was both delightful and depressing. Neuvillette had grown accustomed to his responsibilities, yet when the clear sunny skies shined above him, he was mindful of enjoying the warmth they brought, reminiscing the memories of his friends who wished him stress-free days. 

“Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry.” he heard a young boy yell that phrase amidst the rain.

“Archenoul! Honey, come inside. You will get wet!” his mother called out.

“Coming! I was just comforting the hydro dragon!”

He couldn't stop his lips from curling up into a smile.

He had always questioned his existence. He tried to connect his past, answering questions that remained unanswered. Yet the sunny days and small moments like such burnt all those thoughts away with their radiance and brought light to his life.

“Comforting the hydro dragon? A silly idea. It is endearing.” Neuvillette spoke after breaking away from his thoughts.

“I know. Wonder who came up with it.” The baker chuckled. The rain slowly came to a halt as time progressed.

STAGE FOUR: FIGHTING THE CASE

“I would like to request Mr. Etienne to come up front.” The baker stood with confidence in front of all eyes.

“Very well. Why exactly do you require my presence?” Etienne stepped up. He was an equally influential businessman. His involvement only made this trial more interesting. “You are known to have a long history with Mr. Cornielle. Both of you were involved in a toxic rivalry.” 

“Are you implying that I killed him?” The man’s face showed hints of anger.

“I never said that.” The baker quickly replied and moved on. “There was a vial in one of the dustbins. It contained the poison that killed Mr.Cornielle. It originates from Sumeru.” 

“How can you prove that it is from Sumeru? That is unless you purchased that bottle yourself, Ms. Y/N.” The man turned the tables. It was now a game of volleyball. The only question that remained was, who’s court will the ball end up in by the end?

“You are right. I can’t prove the bottle’s origin, but this paper does.” The baker pulled out the torn sheets found earlier at the camp. “These are receipts of purchases. Multiple items were imported from Sumeru, including a vial. These documents happen to have your signature on them.”

“Let’s be real Mr.Etienne. Either you confess your crime, or I will narrate your ‘masterplan’ in front of everyone,” Y/N looked him dead in the eye. 

“Fine. I did kill that bastard with my own hands.” Gasps echoed in the hall. Lady Furina had an expression of shock on her face. “That stupid Cornielle. He always found a way to be an obstacle on my way to success. If he had kept his nose out of my business…”

Everyone could tell at that given moment that the man was a lunatic.

“I did sneak into the party that night. I disguised myself as a waiter and snuck the poison into his food. The Fatui were very helpful in the import of the goods without raising suspicions. Just as I had planned, all the blame was pinpointed at you, Ms.Y/N.” He started laughing sinisterly.

The atmosphere had turned eerie and cold. People could feel goosebumps on their arms. “My plan was perfect, but an anomaly snuck in.” The businessman gazed at Neuvillette, who sat in his chair, eyeing the entire scene.

There was a moment of brief silence.

“It seems that it is clear now. Mr Etienne killed Mr Cornielle out of sheer jealousy. He used his alliance with the Fatui to obtain the poison to kill him in cold blood. Then he skillfully made it appear as Ms Y/N’s fault who was sent to jail while Mr Etienne roamed free. Mr Etienne, you are declared guilty of homicide, framing the innocent, inflicting violence and importing illegal goods across national borders. You are sentenced to life imprisonment till your execution date.” Neuvillette stated and ordered the guards to take the businessman away.

“I know you were involved in this Ludex! I will make you pay!” the man screamed till taken away by the guards. Neuvillette sighed before continuing,

“I declare Ms Y/N not guilty and wish her a prosperous business from here on. The court is adjourned.” He finished as the Court slowly began to clear out. Y/N let out a breath of relief. It felt like a huge boulder was taken off her shoulders. She had proved herself innocent.

STAGE FIVE: CELEBRATE YOUR VICTORY

Additional: towards the future with a new special someone.

It had been a few months since that fateful incident. Everyone's tongues had the same question. How did the baker do it? Neither the baker nor the Ludex reveals it. The bakery’s business was booming more than ever. People came, enjoyed their meals and left. Life was back to normal. 

The evening sun was making its descent. The shop was now empty and Y/N was busy cleaning the counters.

“Is the shop still open?” a familiar voice made her ears perk up. “Monsieur Neuvillette!” The baker turned around to see the familiar blue and white robe and tall stature. “Greetings I hope you haven’t faced any unpleasantries up till now.” the man asked as the baker tackled him into a hug. It caught the Chief Justice off guard, yet a warm feeling spread across his chest. 

“Oh- sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” the baker profusely apologized.

“I believe it is fine. We have spent time together long enough to be well acquainted.” Neuvillette waved his hand dismissively.

“Come! Sit down! I will get you something.” The baker offered, but Neuvillette shook his head and politely declined.

“Maybe next time. I was just passing by so, I thought I would pay a quick visit. My schedule is full till next month but I will be sure to come whenever time permits.”

“You better come! I will serve you all of my bestsellers!” the baker shot him a toothy grin.

“Is this perhaps a way for you to mug me off my money?” Neuvillette raised a brow at her. Will she get his attempt at humour this time?

“Mug you? No! It is called a business strategy.” The baker proudly chimed with her hands on her hips. She did take his joke this time.

Neuvillette was enjoying this small yet sweet conversation with the baker. It was lively, and lighthearted and felt nice after a long day. He could get used to the baker’s effervescent personality.

He feels a bit queasy. What are these feelings? Such unrestful emotions are similar to what humans feel when they enjoy someone’s company. Why is this happening all of a sudden?

"Neuvillette!" His thoughts are cut short by her gleaming smile. "Thank you." 

It had been a while since he heard those words. His statement from earlier had now become a concrete thought in his mind. The baker was worth choosing his morality over his judgment for.

A smile finally shined on his face.

"You're welcome."

©definitelysel

please do not copy, claim as your own or translate. plagiarism will not be tolerated.

thank you for your time &lt;3

[cherryblossomwriting]

Morning Whispers

Summary: Harry’s raspy morning voice turns Y/N on

W.C: 719 

Warnings: None, just mentions of oral sex 

Tags: Singer!Boyfriend!Harry x Girlfriend!Y/n 

The rays of sunshine falling through the mesh curtain like sprinkles of glitter. Watching the sun shine on a winter morning is the best feeling ever. But you know what's even better than that… having a man with a face chiselled with features handcrafted by the gods of ancient Greece sleeping right next to you on the same bed. The irony between the soft sunlight kissing his manly face that seems to have aged like fine wine with wisdom, oh how she envied the sun. His eyebrows always seem to quiver while he is relaxed in his sweet slumber. She knows how stressful the last couple weeks have been for him. Harry is planning his next world tour, she is extremely happy for her boyfriend however it has taken a toll on his mental health. She can’t help but stare at the butterfly tattoo on his abs that move rhythmically with each breath. These were the moments she lived for. The feeling where the world goes quiet, a sense of absolute serenity… a little world of their own, just her and Harry. Sometimes it's hard for her to believe that the moment she is experiencing is actually true. A dream came true. She could never get enough of him. Y/N cant help but smile as she watches his lips slightly pout in his sleep, a habit he has that she noticed from the very beginning of their relationship. Even now, after 3 years into their relationship, it makes her smile at how innocent he looks while he sleeps. She moves her face closer to his and gives him a small kiss on his lip. Moving her hands into his hair just to massage them lightly. 

His eyes slowly open as he tries to adjust to the bright sunlight. He smiles as he watches the love of his life staring at him like he is the only man she has ever seen. Anyone watching them from far away could say that they love each other to death. Harry pulls Y/N into a deep, passionate kiss to start the day on a good note. “Good mornin’, my sweet pea,” he says in his deep, raspy morning voice. “Oh, Im fucked,” she thinks to herself. If someone asked her what motivates her to get up in the morning. She sure would answer by saying “just to hear his morning voice”. Harry has always had a deep yet calming voice, however, his voice tends to get extra deep in the morning. It resembles his raw, sexual masculinity. However, Y/n's voice tends to be the exact opposite of Harry’s. Soft, delicate and fragile. This is because most mornings her voice is gone due to shouting and moaning Harry’s name all night. 

“You know how much I love you right, darling?” He speaks with care and love in his voice. The deadly combination of his sweet words of affirmation and his alluring, sensual voice gets Y/n’s mind in a spiral. He never fails to mention how much he loves her first thing in the morning. “I know. I love you too. A little too much right now,” she says in her soft voice. “Yeah, why is that?” he asks, knowing the reason very well. A few months into the relationship he realised how much his morning voice turned her on. Although she never confirmed it, he knew very well. “You know very well baby” she replies back. He just hums back and pulls her into his chest. Her back touching his chest. He sprinkles small kisses on her neck and kisses her a little longer on the spot that he knows is extremely sensitive. Leaving a small mark for him to admire later on in the day. He drags his hand on her waist down to her naked stomach, rubbing small circles. Y/N usually sleeps in her cute, crop tops and shorts while Harry sleeps only in his boxers. Harry positions Y/N on her back as he gets on his knees. She knows exactly what he is going to do and to say she was excited (in both ways;)) was an understatement. She gasps as he pulls her shorts down. He spanks her inner right thigh and groans and murmurs “Now hush, let daddy have his breakfast in peace.”       

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[firewasabeast]

Carry the Burden

read on ao3 or below. 7.6k, tags: emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of past abuse, emotional/psychological abuse, depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of vomiting, love, care, no major character death

Summary:

With Buck, Tommy was an open book... mostly. There was one particular, very important chapter that he kept closed. He didn't bring up his childhood. Didn't mention his parents much. That was a part of his life no one but he and his therapist needed to know about. But a surprise visit from his father changes all that, and sends Tommy spiraling down a path he'd fought so hard to shun away.

They were on the couch, Buck laid out with his head on the arm rest and legs sprawled over Tommy's lap. Tommy had his own legs crossed and stretched out on the coffee table. Buck barely registered Tommy's phone buzzing as he reached and pulled it out of his pocket.

“Hm. Dad's in town.”

Tommy had been so nonchalant with his words that Buck was pretty sure he heard him wrong.

“What?” He asked as Tommy laid the phone beside him.

“My dad's here, apparently.” He didn't even look away from the TV as he spoke, keeping his focus on the basketball game.

They'd been sitting there for nearly half an hour now, Tommy watching the game while Buck did a deep dive on the history of mummification. It wasn't his first time researching the subject, but it was always good to get a refresher.

“Are you... are you going to see him?” Buck asked.

Tommy was an open book with Buck, mostly. It helped that Buck was always more than willing to share stories from his own past.

Tommy would talk about how he was a chubby kid growing up and got made fun of a lot for it. How he took up wrestling in high school. How he joined the military at seventeen, mostly to show his classmates just how strong he was. He'd go into detail about the missions he completed in the army, and the way it impacted his life to this day. He didn't shy away from who he was when he first became a firefighter. How he followed along with Gerrard because it was the easy thing to do. He made no excuses for himself.

Tommy talked about part of him wanting to stay at the 118 once Bobby came, but his past loomed over him like a dark cloud and, even though Hen and Chimney forgave him long ago, every time he walked into the station he was reminded of who he was and not who he wanted to be.

He talked about his first few weeks in therapy. How he went through three therapists before he found one he liked. How hard it was to come to terms with so many aspects of his life.

He still went to therapy, once a week, always on a Tuesday. That was one of his regular days off, and Buck knew there would always be a couple hours of radio silence from him then.

There was one aspect of his life that Tommy never really discussed in detail.

His parents.

It wasn't that he never mentioned them. Buck knew that his dad was not a good man, and that his mom died when he was young, but that's all Tommy had ever really said.

The scoff Tommy let out at Buck's question told him all he needed to know. “No, I- I will not be seeing him.”

Buck pushed himself up into a sitting position, bending his knees close to his chest. “How'd you find out he was in town?”

Tommy didn't have siblings. Didn't really have any extended family. None he was in regular contact with anyway.

“He texted me,” Tommy answered simply.

“I didn't even know he had your number.”

“Oh, he has it,” Tommy managed to look over at Buck and give him a grin that didn't quite reach the eyes, “he just rarely uses it.”

“But he is now?”

“Apparently.” Tommy turned back to the game, but Buck reached over and squeezed his forearm, regaining his attention.

“Hey, Tommy, use your words. I've never heard you mention your dad calling or texting you, but he suddenly is now? Is there a reason?”

Tommy sighed. He reached for his phone, unlocking it before handing it over to Buck. “That's all it says. He's not a man of many words,” he said, before mumbling out, “or many good words, at least.”

Buck read over the text:

In town. Let's talk. Stuff to figure out.

He handed Tommy his phone. “Are you gonna answer him, at least?”

Tommy shook his head. “No, I am not.”

“Aren't you a little curious...”

Buck's voice trailed off as Tommy reached for Buck's hand, gently tugging Buck towards him. Buck maneuvered himself until he was curled into Tommy's side, his head resting just below Tommy's shoulder. Tommy wrapped his arm around Buck, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I appreciate the concern,” he spoke quietly, “but this,” he added, lifting his phone, “is not happening.”

Buck understood issues with parents. He'd told that to Tommy so many times before. He'd gone over his life story time and time again, and Tommy always listened with the utmost care and consideration. He always seemed so happy for Buck too. Happy that he was able to, for the most part, work things out with his parents. They may not be on the best terms, and they'd probably never be what others considered a “close” family, but they were better. And that was good enough.

Still, Buck could tell that Tommy was done with the conversation, so he let it go.

“How much longer until the game is over?” he asked, changing the topic for Tommy's sake.

Tommy let out a laugh, shaking Buck slightly. “About ten minutes.”

Buck closed his eyes, settling further into Tommy's side, “Wake me up when it's over.”

*****

They'd been together six months now, had exchanged keys a couple months in, but Buck still felt a thrill every time he walked into Tommy's place knowing Tommy wouldn't actually be there yet.

Something about it just felt so domestic. And Buck loved that feeling.

They'd already discussed moving in together. If they both had a night off, they were never apart, instead switching between each place depending on what errands they had planned for the next day.

Buck had another two months to go on his lease, so they decided to hold out on actually moving in together until then. There was no reason to deny him getting his security deposit back, or being forced to pay rent for an apartment he was no longer living in.

Still, Buck preferred Tommy's house. It was an older place, and not very big, but it had a nice garage for working out and a good kitchen that Buck enjoyed cooking in.

Which was why he came to Tommy's today. Tommy was working, but he'd be off by six, and Buck wanted to have a good dinner ready for him to come home to. Bobby had given him a recipe for something called Marry Me Chicken, and well, who was Buck kidding, that was the ultimate goal.

They would be the first to admit they were a bit unconventional. Besides swapping keys two months into their relationship, they had discussed whether or not children were in their future on date number four.

Tommy never really let go of the fact Buck invited him to his sister's wedding after one failed date.

They had sex on Buck's balcony before they had it in his bed.

They said I love you for the first time in month three, when Buck was deathly ill with a stomach bug and somehow got vomit in his hair. Tommy got him in the shower, letting Buck rest all of his body weight on him as he cleaned him up. Wrapped in Tommy's arms, head resting on his chest, eyes closed as water and soap flowed down his body, and the taste of throw up still on his tongue no matter how many times he brushed and used mouthwash, he uttered out an “I love you” to Tommy. He didn't even care if Tommy said it back, but Tommy did. He pressed a kiss to Buck's temple, dragging a wash cloth down his back, and said, “I love you too, Evan. So much.” That wasn't just the day Buck knew he loved Tommy, it was the day he knew he wanted to marry Tommy.

And, no, the chicken wasn't going to be a proposal. That wouldn't be happening until after they had officially lived together for a while- which had been a discussion during date number six.

But the name of the recipe, the words marry me, made Buck feel soft in a way that almost felt ridiculous, especially since it was literally just a recipe for chicken breast.

Buck had just placed the chicken in the oven when there was a knock on the door.

He rolled his eyes. Tommy often came home with his hands full, opting to carry most of his items separately instead of placing them in his duffel.

“One of these days I'm not gonna answer,” Buck called out as he neared the door, “just to teach you a le- Oh.”

The words died out on his tongue when he was met at the door by an older man that was very much not Tommy.

This man had thirty or so years on Buck, and was a few inches taller too. He was broad- really broad. Like Tommy, but on steroids.

“Uh, sorry, I- I thought you were someone else,” Buck began after he collected himself. “Can I help you?”

“Is this Thomas Kinard's place?” The man's voice was gruff. The kind of voice you get after smoking a pack a day for years on end.

“It is.”

“You're not him.”

“I'm not.”

“Where is he?”

Well, this conversation was going swimmingly!

“I- I'm sorry, who... are you?”

“Right,” the man held out his hand, although the scowl on his face remained. “Charles Kinard.”

Buck couldn't hide the surprise on his face after hearing the name. He shook Charles' hand, which held on a bit too tightly. “Oh! Oh, you're Tommy's dad.”

“'S'what it says on the birth certificate.”

Once Charles let go, Buck moved out of the way, allowing him to come inside. “Come in. Sorry, I was, um, not expecting anyone. I'm Evan Buckley, um, Buck, by the way. Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot,” Charles noted as he walked farther into the house, eyes drifting around the place.

“Yeah, I- I know. Sor- uh, Tommy should be home pretty soon. He's been working. Was he... Did he know you were coming?”

He cringed at the question, knowing it was an odd thing to ask. He was still trying to catch up with what was going on. Tommy hadn't mentioned his father since three days ago, when he got the text he never answered. Maybe he had ended up answering and just never said anything to Buck, but that wasn't like Tommy.

“Not really,” Charles answered, finally turning to face Buck. “Who are you?” he asked, eying Buck up and down. Buck wasn't really sure if Charles was looking at him, or his apron, which he now remembered said, 'I like my meat rubbed, jerked, and pulled!'

Buck untied the apron and unceremoniously pulled it off of him, crumpling it up in his hand. He realized in that moment that he had no idea what Tommy's dad actually knew, or didn't know, about him. “I'm his friend,” he settled on, “from work.”

“You work together?”

Buck nodded. “Sort of. Different stations, but, yeah, um, yes we're both firefighters.”

“Mm.”

“Uh, why don't you have a seat,” Buck suggested, motioning toward the living room as he stepped closer to Charles. “Tommy won't be too much longer now.”

Charles moseyed into the living room, glancing around at the décor before taking a seat on the couch. “You come over and cook for your friend while he works?” Charles asked as Buck returned to the kitchen.

He wanted to text Tommy, or call him, and let him know what was happening, but he knew he couldn't. He couldn't exactly talk about his dad while he was right in front of him, and Tommy wouldn't check a text when he was driving.

“I, uh, I like to cook,” Buck started, trying to think of an explanation that didn't sound too ridiculous. “And he's got a good kitchen, so I come over, um, sometimes to cook. I- I pay with food.” God, he was an idiot.

Another grunt like sound came from Charles, and Buck was about ninety percent sure he didn't buy it.

Buck wasn't sure how to communicate with the man. He was usually pretty good about stuff like this. He could make up random things to talk about with anyone, whether they wanted to hear it or not. But this was his boyfriend's father who didn't know for sure that Buck was Tommy's boyfriend, and all the questions that were coming to Buck's mind were only questions a significant other would ask their partner's parents.

“So, Mr. Kinard,” Buck began, beginning to slice a cucumber. He wasn't even planning on using a cucumber for anything tonight, but he needed something to do.

“Charles.”

“Charles, um, what... are you visiting LA?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, good. That's... that's good. I'm sure Tommy will be happy to see you.”

Yet another grunt. This one almost sounded like a snort. Buck leaned over slightly to get a look at the man, who was staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the turned off TV in front of him.

“You should stay for dinner,” Buck suggested, hating himself as the words left his mouth. “There's gonna plenty.” That was true. He always made enough for leftovers.

“Okay.”

This truly was a man of few words.

Buck was just about to tell him he could turn on the TV and watch something when he heard the sound of keys jiggling in the doorknob.

The door opened before Buck could get to it.

“Oh my God, Evan, what smells so good? I could smell it from outside,” Tommy said, walking inside. Buck met him at the entryway.

“Just chicken. Um, Tommy-”

Tommy dropped his duffel at the door, “I even put my stuff in it this time,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows as he grabbed at Buck's shirt to pull him in for a kiss. Usually, Buck would've been thrilled. Told him it was about damn time and asked if he could take a picture to remember this moment forever.

Instead, he quickly pulled away from the kiss and unwrapped himself from Tommy's touch.

“We have a visitor, Tommy,” Buck said when he was met with a confused face. “You do, I mean.”

“I was wondering who's car was out front,” Tommy replied. “Figured the neighbors were having another party or something.”

“No, um, it's...” Buck's voice trailed off. He could tell Charles was somewhere behind him now. Could see that Tommy's eyes trailed from looking at him to looking at his father. Whatever was left of the smile on his face disappeared, his skin paling.

Part of Buck wished he could disappear. Just melt into the floor and turn into a puddle of goo.

The other part of him had the urge to stand between the two men forever, making sure Tommy was protected from whatever pain his father had obviously caused him.

Buck had never seen the look on Tommy's face before. It looked like fear and sadness, mixed with rage.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asked as Buck stepped to the side to get out of the way.

“Well, hello to you too, TJ.”

TJ? That was new.

“Don't call me that. What are you doing here? How'd you find my house?”

The problem with where Buck was standing, was that he couldn't move toward the kitchen without walking directly in front of the two men, and he wasn't sure this was a good moment to move.

“I'm not an idiot. You own the place, I looked it up. I texted you when I got to town.”

“I know you did.” Tommy shrugged off his jacket, dropping it on top of his duffel bag. “Thought you'd get the hint when I didn't answer.”

“You know how I am with subtleties.”

“Not answering a single one of your texts for three years is not exactly subtle, Dad.”

Buck could not do this any longer. He could feel Charles' eyes on him and, if he was going to be Tommy's friend, he couldn't exactly go into protective-boyfriend mode.

“I'm gonna,” he pointed toward the kitchen, “just go over there.”

Tommy waited for Buck to be out of the room before continuing. “You need to go,” he said, staring his father dead in the eyes.

“Hm. Thought you wanted to know what I was doing here?”

“Decided I don't care.”

Charles smiled. It didn't reach his eyes the way Tommy's did. There were no laughter lines, no scrunched up nose. Just a meaningless smile. “You're lookin' good, TJ. Lower BMI than the last time I saw you. That's good.”

Buck wasn't sure if he was hearing things correctly. Who says that to their kid after not seeing them for years?

“And you're looking me in the eyes. You always struggled with that before.”

“It's easier now that I'm too big for you to hit.”

Buck sucked in a breath. It was impossible to not overhear the conversation. With the open floor plan, Buck could still see Charles, although he didn't have a view of Tommy.

Charles laughed. A deep, guttural laugh that made Buck feel uneasy. “You're never too big for that, T-”

“You need to go. Now.”

“Hang on a minute,” Charles said, waving Tommy off. “I gotta talk to you about my will.”

“I don't give a damn about your will.”

“I've got fifty acres of land in Colorado, TJ. Been in the family for generations.”

“You've got a double wide trailer on that dump of land and couldn't get rid of it if you tried. I don't want it.”

Buck could hear shuffling, so he quickly picked up a knife to make it look like he'd been chopping away at that same cucumber from earlier.

Tommy entered the kitchen, washing his hands at the sink before turning to Buck. “Need help with anything, Ev?”

“N- No, um, no, I'm good.”

“I'm not getting any younger, TJ.”

Tommy placed a hand on Buck's lower back. It was as though it was an anchor for him. Something to keep him steady.

He glared over at his dad. “You're still here?”

“Don't be dumb, Thomas. I'm not leaving until we talk about this. Besides, your friend here invited me for dinner.”

The hand on Buck's back stiffened, before being removed completely. He turned his head toward Buck. “You did?”

“I- I thought you two might, um, might want to catch up.”

He hoped Tommy could read between the lines. Hoped he understood what Buck was really trying to say.

“I felt like I had no other choice. This was really awkward, even for me, and I panicked. Please, don't hate me.”

“That's kind of you, Evan,” Tommy replied, his attention returning to his father, “but we don't have anything to catch up on.”

“Hey! Don't stand there acting like I'm the problem,” Charles said, crossing the room in three steps. Buck could feel Tommy stiffen beside him. “You're the one who left, not me! I've been the one contacting you. You can act like I'm a terrible father all you want, but I'm the one that helped you be something!”

“You didn't help me! I ran from you! I was seventeen years old, Dad, joining the army to get away from you!”

Buck wanted to say something. Wanted to kick the man out of the house, or at least hold up his bowl of finely chopped cucumber and ask if anyone wanted a bite.

But, this wasn't his house. Not yet, anyway. And, somehow, he felt responsible for this whole debacle. He couldn't stop thinking about how he should have done things differently. He shouldn't have let Charles in the house. Shouldn't have attempted to make conversation. Shouldn't have invited him to stay for dinner. Should have figured out a way to call and warn Tommy. Should have texted him anyway; maybe he would have read it before getting out of his truck.

“You know, I really should have known better,” Charles said, shaking his head. “Should have known you wouldn't want to help your old man out.”

“Help you out?” Tommy asked, exasperated. “I have done nothing but help you out for years! I bailed you out of jail three times. I paid your gambling debts for you. I took a second mortgage out on my home so I could pay your back taxes! If I didn't stop answering your messages, I'd be living on the streets! And now you want to come talk about a will? On property that you've nearly foreclosed on twice? I'm surprised you even have that place any-” he stopped mid sentence. Buck glanced over at him, worried something had happened.

“You're about to lose the property, aren't you?” Tommy asked. That made much more sense.

“Now, just listen-”

“You're really here to have me buy the property, and give you the money, so you can go blow it on booze and steroids and hookers and whatever else you feel like.”

“This is what family does, TJ,” Charles said, pointing at Tommy as he eyed him down. “They help each other when they're in need.”

“When have you ever helped me, Dad?” Tommy asked. His voice was different now. Resigned, almost. “Never.”

“I don't need to stand here and listen to these lies in front of your friend!”

Tommy scoffed. “I think you know he's more than a friend.”

“Yeah, I do know. He's been bumbling like an idiot since I got here.”

Buck could feel his face turning red. He wasn't embarrassed by Charles' words, more surprised by the man's lack of filter.

“Get out.” Tommy demanded. “Now!”

Charles moved even closer, a tight fist placed on the countertop of the island. “You owe me!” he spit out through gritted teeth. “The embarrassment you have caused me. Being the way you are, having to answer questions from my friends! I have been trying to knock sense into you for years!”

“Maybe I was too busy lying to doctors in the hospital for the sense to really get knocked in there!”

“Pathetic,” Charles said, before mumbling out, “like your mother.”

“Get out.” It was Buck's voice this time. It no longer mattered to him that this wasn't his home. He didn't care if he was overstepping. Tommy could be mad if he wanted.

For as little as Buck knew about Tommy's family, he did see the way Tommy's eyes got red and glassy when he mentioned his mom. How he'd clear his throat and say she was a good woman, a great mom, gone too soon. From what he'd pieced together on his own, it was a suicide.

Tommy had never said as much, but he came to Buck's after a particularly bad shift. Buck hadn't even been expecting him. He showed up at the door, eyes blank, mind somewhere far away. He'd even forgotten he had a key of his own.

He'd curled into Buck the second the door opened, arms tight around Buck's waist and head turned into the crook of his neck.

Buck squeezed him back just as tight. Asked if he was okay, accepted the silence in return. They stayed there for a while, until Buck was finally able to convince Tommy to move to the couch.

Tommy snuggled up to Buck's side the second they sat down. He laid his head on Buck's chest, one arm curled between them and the other resting over Buck's stomach. They'd rested like this before, but this was the first time Buck ever thought that Tommy looked small. Not physically, obviously, but the way he acted was like a child in desperate need of comfort.

So that's what Buck did.

It was the longest thirty minutes of silence before Tommy spoke. “I worked the ground today,” he explained through a shaky voice, making no effort to move off of Buck. “We were short-staffed. There was a call. A kid found... he found his mom. She was in the bathtub. She was already,” he swallowed down a sob, “she was gone already. He was freaking out. I waited un- until his dad got there to be with him.”

“That's terrible, Tommy,” Buck said, running a soothing hand up and down Tommy's bicep.

“It just... it reminded me-” he cut himself off, took a deep breath, “I like being in the air.”

Buck wasn't dumb. He could put together a puzzle that was missing half its pieces. He knew better than to press the issue. Knew what Tommy needed right now was simply to be held.

So he held him.

He held him until Tommy's breaths evened out and the sun had long set.

And now, with Charles in front of him, it was all Buck could think about. That moment replaying in his mind as Tommy's father spewed venom from across the counter.

“If you're not out of here in ten seconds, I'll call the police for trespassing, and you seem like the type who has warrants waiting for them.”

Charles opened his mouth to speak, but Buck grabbed for the phone in his pocket.

The older man held his hands up in surrender and, without another word, turned and left the house.

There were a few beats of silence before Buck spoke. “Tommy, I-”

“I need to go for a walk.” Tommy's voice was stoic.

Buck didn't like that. He followed behind Tommy as he headed for the door. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.

Tommy picked up his jacket and slipped it on. “No, I'm fine.”

“Tommy, I don't-”

Tommy stopped in the open doorway, hand still on the knob but halfway out the door already. “Evan, I'm fine,” he repeated. His voice wavered this time. Only slightly, but enough for Buck to catch it. “I just need a minute.”

Buck nodded, pursing his lips together. “Yeah, okay.”

He stood there long after the door had closed.

*****

A cool breeze filled the air as Tommy walked down his street. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets as a chill came over him.

He was tense. He kept trying to make sense of the thoughts in his head, but everything felt all jumbled.

He'd been doing so well. Therapy had helped him work through so many of the issues he had with his dad. Had helped him cut off contact. He stopped enabling the man and set himself free of him.

The only reason he didn't block his dad's number was because he knew, one day, a police officer or one of his dad's deadbeat friends would be calling to say he was dead. Even if he cared nothing for the man, he'd still like to know when it was all over.

There were times Tommy would sit and think about the things he'd say if he ever came face to face with his dad again. He had a list. All the ways his dad had screwed him over throughout his entire life.

And then the one time he actually did come face to face with the man after all these years, he didn't say a single damn thing he'd written down.

He knew he'd never get the chance again.

Knew his dad wouldn't really care anyway. He never cared about the pain he caused, even when Tommy was a little kid.

His jaw tensed. He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. He didn't want to cry anyway. He wanted to be mad.

That's what his dad always got angry at him for. Tommy would get upset, and he'd cry. His dad would yell, and he'd cry. His dad would hit him, he'd cry. His dad would hit him harder because he was crying, he'd cry even more.

Kids at school would make fun of his weight.

His dad would make him run laps until he'd puke.

He'd avoid eye contact to try and not be noticed.

He'd cry.

He'd cry.

He'd cry.

Not now though. Now he could hold it in. He finally learned that as a teenager. Perfected it over time. His therapist helped him with that too; taught him not to hold in his emotions. For the most part, he didn't anymore, he'd let himself feel whatever he was feeling. Right now he needed to control something, and this was the something he could control.

So he didn't cry.

But he let himself be mad.

Because he was so damn mad.

Mad at himself.

Mad at his dad.

Mad at him showing up to his house, invading his safe space, a space that had been free and clear of the trauma of his youth.

Now, every time he'd step in that house he'd see his dad there.

He hated that.

As much as he hated to admit it, a part of him was mad at Buck too.

No, mad wasn't the right word.

Envious, maybe.

Every time Buck talked about his parents, a twinge of envy sparked inside of Tommy. He knew it was stupid. He didn't even particularly like Buck's parents. He definitely didn't like who they used to be, how they used to treat their son.

But, to their credit, they had been trying now.

And that's where the envy came in.

Because Buck's parents went to therapy with him. They started showing up, being there for their kids, through good and bad, even when they weren't comfortable.

And yeah, they were a little late, and not all wounds ever completely heal. There were still problems, and they were always a bit on edge when Tommy was around, but they were there.

They still put on a smile for Buck, however forced, and corrected themselves when they called him Evan.

They'd never hit their kids. Sure, they were a little too busy ignoring them, but Maddie and Buck never had to be afraid of their parents.

“We were invisible,” Buck had told him once.

Tommy didn't say it, he'd never speak the words out loud, because he knew how much being invisible hurt Buck. But, the first thing Tommy thought when he heard that was I wish I could've been invisible too.

Even thinking something like that made Tommy feel like a bad person. Actually, he often felt like a bad person. A terrible, terrible person who was so undeserving of any forgiveness, happiness, and love. He'd think about who he became in the military. Closed off, angry, ruthless at times. He'd killed people. He didn't think about it. Just dropped the bomb on whatever target he'd been told to hit. They were just targets. Living, breathing targets. He'd hear reports of kids getting hit with missiles, innocent casualties who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that was war, and you didn't get emotional with war. Until you got home and you had to reason with who you'd become.

Then he'd think of who he became when he got hired as a firefighter. More closed off, angrier, trying to make up for what he'd done by saving lives instead of taking them. But, no matter how many saves he got, it didn't make up for the kills. And you could get close to people, but you'd probably lose them just like you did in the military, so why have a friend if they're just gonna die anyway?

Plus, there was Gerrard. Gerrard, who was so much like his dad in so many ways. A crass bastard who didn't care who he offended or how he mistreated people. Tears were a weakness, emotions were a weakness, and Tommy was tired of people thinking he was weak. So, he made sure he wasn't.

The difference between his dad and Gerrard was that, if you fit in with Gerrard, he wouldn't bother you as much.

His dad bothered him regardless.

Tommy was not a good person when he had Gerrard as a boss. At first, he blamed Gerrard. Healing came when he took responsibility for himself.

Even with the healing; with leaving the 118 and starting over. With getting therapy and changing his mindset and forgiving himself, there were times when he felt like the biggest fraud in the world. Because he may have forgiven himself, but he didn't deserve the forgiveness of the people around him.

He didn't deserve the friendship of Howie or Hen. He didn't deserve Eddie, who was always excited to hang out. He didn't deserve weekly dinners with Bobby and Athena, who would ask him about his week and listen to his stories. He didn't deserve Maddie, who was ready and waiting to watch The Bachelor each week with wine and a cheeseboard.

He definitely didn't deserve Evan.

Evan.

Who was always there, no matter what. Wore his heart on his sleeve, would do anything for anyone, Evan.

Evan, who was a soft kiss after a hard day. Who's body fit with Tommy's like two puzzle pieces that were finally placed together. Stubborn, smart, bold, unafraid, open, honest, loving, kind, adorable, Evan.

He'd talked to his therapist about it one day. Things were going too well, his life felt too good, and that nagging voice drudged its way up from the back of his mind to repeat over and over you don't deserve it, you don't deserve it, you don't deserve it.

Then his therapist asked him a simple question. “When you hear the voice, is it your voice, or is it your father?”

After thinking about it for a while, Tommy answered, “A morphing of the two. Starts as him, ends as me.”

A nod. “Let's dissect that.”

They did.

It sucked.

But it helped too. It didn't make the feeling go away, but it did help him recognize that what he was feeling didn't just stem from the choices he made as an adult, it started all the way back when he was a child. When he was told, time and time again, how he didn't deserve good things.

Oftentimes, Tommy felt like his mind was a cruel joke that liked to play, well, mind games on him. As soon as he'd push through his feelings of being undeserving, his brain would laugh and tell him he was pitying himself. Making himself the victim when, in the majority of the things he did as an adult, he was in fact not the victim. This would, in turn, make him feel undeserving of feeling undeserving.

“My mind is a very screwy place,” he said on a particularly grouchy day at therapy. “Truly can't believe they let me fly an aircraft.”

“It sounds kind of like you're torturing yourself for not being perfect.”

“I feel like the more I try to learn and grow from my past, to- to move on from it, it throws itself right back up in my face. I try. I really, really try to let it go, but I can't.”

“I know it's a sensitive topic for you, Tommy, but-”

“No.” Tommy knew where this was going. “No, it's not that.”

A sigh. “Tommy, how old are you?”

He was not in the mood for this today. “Forty-one.”

“And how old was your mother when she passed?”

“Forty-two.”

“I know you've mentioned before how she held onto her guilt. She felt hopeless. Worthless. Let it eat away at her. Your words.”

“I'm not like that. I'm not... I wouldn't do that. I don't feel that way.”

“I'm not saying that you do. I'm saying, sometimes, the reason we feel certain ways stems from our parents, grandparents, etcetera.”

Tommy uncrossed his legs, picked at a string hanging from his jeans. “Can we change the subject? Evan and I have a date tonight and I don't wanna be bitchy when I pick him up.”

*****

Tommy continued down the sidewalk, the only light from the street lamps above him. Occasionally, he'd hear a dog bark or a bird chirp but it was mostly quiet.

He was a couple miles from home now. He knew he should be heading back. His anger had mostly died down to something else by now. Something he couldn't really explain.

Emptiness, maybe?

Yet another word he'd used to describe his mother before.

But, he wasn't like her. He could always get out of bed. He didn't have problems brushing his teeth. He didn't let himself go. He never lost his appetite. He never felt like downing an entire bottle of pills on a regular Sunday afternoon. Would never think of risking his future child walking in the room, excited to tell him about winning the little league game, and instead find him on the floor, long gone.

“I'm the complete opposite of her,” Tommy said at his next session, still annoyed from the previous week. “I don't call out of work, I take extra shifts, I always have something planned when I'm off. I'm in a stable relationship which, yeah, I've only been in for five months, but it's been the best five months of my life. I manage everything fine. Sometimes my mind is just a dick to me.”

“Depression is different for everyone,” his apparently all knowing therapist replied. “Some people have all the symptoms, some have a few, none are exactly alike. There's levels to it, different kinds.”

Tommy slumped back on the couch, sighing as he stared out the window. “Well, that really sucks.”

He tried to be open with Evan. He'd told him so much about his life, about who he was. Evan knew everything about Tommy's time in the military. He knew what Tommy was like when he worked under Gerrard. He knew all the ways Tommy had struggled with himself and his sexuality. He knew all the bad parts, and he loved him anyway.

“I've made so many versions of myself, Tommy,” Buck told him one day, “I think I lost count at 5.0. They're all still me though. I wouldn't be here if I was never there, and I really, really like being here. Sometimes the crappy stuff makes you better in the end.”

Maybe it wasn't as well spoken as something his therapist would have said, but Tommy understood. No matter what, Evan wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't scared off by Tommy. Didn't judge him. He loved him. They loved each other.

Still, as Tommy walked the desolate street, he couldn't help the new voice inside his head. This one was his alone. It was telling him that, as open as he'd been, he'd still closed off a huge part of his life to Evan. It wasn't even necessarily intentional, it was just easier. Easier to avoid the topic altogether. However, it wasn't exactly fair.

He could hear his therapist in his mind, asking him the questions. “Why do you think you've closed that part of yourself off to Buck?”

He'd answer, “I don't exactly like revisiting the subject.”

“Do you not trust him with that part of your life?”

“Of course I do! I trust him with every part of my life.”

“Then why don't you tell him?”

“Because...”

“Because?”

Tommy would feel like pulling out his hair at this point. “Because I have spent so many years letting those parts of me go!”

“Have you really let them go? Unless you hit your head and get amnesia, is that even possible? Wouldn't it be easier if you let your partner help carry the burden when it gets hard for you?”

“He doesn't need to carry my burdens.”

“Don't you help carry his?”

On the street, Tommy stopped in his tracks. He groaned, staring up at the sky as if his therapist was some ethereal being. “I hate you,” he mumbled, before turning around and heading back home.

*****

He opened the door expecting to be hit with the ghost of his father standing there just hours earlier. Instead, he was met with the sight of Evan. Straight ahead at the kitchen table. He plopped his phone down on the table and stared up at Tommy, eyes wide and wet.

“Hi,” Buck said softly. He eyed Tommy carefully, trying to gauge the mood.

Tommy let out a shaky breath. “Hi,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and, once again, placing it on top of the duffel that hadn't moved.

“I was worried about you. You didn't take your phone and I- you were gone a long time.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize.” He really hadn't. He forgot he had ever put it in his duffel in the first place, usually opting to keep it in his pocket the majority of the time.

“S'okay.”

Tommy walked over to the table, pulled out the chair next to Buck, and sat down.

“I'm sorry, Evan,” Tommy repeated, for a different reason this time. “I shouldn't have left like that.”

“You don't need to be sorry.” Buck sat up straighter, splaying his hands out on the table. “I'm sorry. I had no idea your dad was like that. If I did, I never would have let him in your house.”

“Our house,” Tommy corrected. “Soon enough, anyway. You don't need to be sorry either. You didn't do anything wrong.”

Buck smiled at him, turning one hand up for Tommy to take. “Can neither of us be sorry instead then?”

Tommy held onto it, Buck's touch relaxing him in the way it always did. “Sounds good to me.”

“Are you hungry? I left the food in the oven on warm, just in case.”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah, I am actually. I'll get it though, you relax.” He squeezed Buck's hand as he got up. Before walking away, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to Buck's temple. When he began to pull away, Buck held onto his shirt, turning his head and giving him a real kiss. He moved his hands up to Tommy's face, stroking his thumbs along his cheeks as he did his best to project all his love into the kiss.

Tommy looked dazed as they parted. “I think I need to go on walks more often.”

Buck rolled his eyes, swatting at Tommy's butt as he walked off. “Ass.”

“And you love it.”

“I suppose I do.”

“So, what'd you make?” Tommy asked, putting on some oven mitts before pulling the dish out of the oven.

“You're, uh, not allowed to laugh at the name. It's a recipe I got from Bobby, but he got it from the internet or something.”

“Oh God, did you make that goat in the boat dish again?”

“It was toad in the hole, and you loved it!”

“Mm,” Tommy hummed. He got out a couple plates and started plating the food. “What's it called?” he asked again.

“It's... It's called, um, it's Marry Me Chicken.”

After a beat of silence, Buck looked over to see Tommy staring at him, an eyebrow raised. “Evan Buckley, are you proposing to me over a chicken dish?”

Another eye roll. “Absolutely not.”

“You know the saying, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

“And all this time I thought it was through his ass.”

“Aye!”

Buck laughed, resting his chin on his hand as he watched Tommy finish up in the kitchen. “There's also some very finely chopped cucumber in the fridge if you'd like that as well, but it's not part of the dish.”

“Still a delightful addition to any meal,” Tommy replied, grabbing the bowl out of the fridge. He balanced it on his wrist before picking up the plates and bringing them to the table. “This looks amazing, Ev.”

“I hope it tastes good.”

“I'm sure it will.”

As Tommy and Buck both began to cut up their pieces of chicken, Tommy glanced over at his boyfriend. “So, um, tonight was... it was a lot.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“I wanted to...” Tommy's voice trailed off, unsure of how to articulate what he wanted to say. He put down his cutlery and focused on Buck. “I was thinking on my walk about how open you've always been, talking about your mom and dad. Even the hard stuff, the uncomfortable stuff, you share it all. I- I haven't done that with you, Evan. That's not fair to you.”

“I've never felt that way,” Buck assured him. “I understood.”

“Still, I- I've always shared everything with you, besides that. It's not even the worst parts of me, really. I know... I know that stuff, when I was a kid, I know none of that was my fault. I think part of me felt like if I ignored it forever, it would eventually go away.” He shook his head. “It doesn't go away.”

Once again, Buck held out a hand for Tommy to take, connecting them on top of the table. “I'm here. Whenever you're ready. Now. Ten years from now. Whenever.”

Ten years from now. Those words hit him hard. He could feel his heart swell.

They were forever. Evan was his forever.

He took a deep breath, his residual anxieties melting away. “There's a lot about my parents you don't know.”

“Practically everything,” Buck agreed.

Tommy let out a laugh. “Well, I'd like to change that,” he replied, sharing a soft smile with Buck.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Because we don't have to right now, if you're not ready.”

“No, I'm ready,” he answered. He squeezed Buck's hand tighter. “There's a lot to talk about with my dad,” he started, grabbing up his fork with his free hand to pierce a piece of the chicken, “but I think I want to start with my mom. She was... She was a lot like me.”

Buck nodded, smiling gently. “I love her already.”

[inactiveobeymeblog]

⚠️NSFW Ahead⚠️

What if MC was an angel but they were also there when Lucifer was an angel?

Starting out, what if MC was really young when their connection to Lucifer first began?

What if at one point MC had to attend an angel meeting bc of their guardian angel and they developed a silly-little-kids-crush on Lucifer the moment they laid eyes on him?

Imagine MC with starry, sparkling eyes while they gawk at how magnificently beautiful he is.

And during the meeting, Lucifer randomly comes up to MC and is like, “And what is your name?”

MC would be so shy bc that’s what little kids are like when their crush pays any attention to them and MC would whisper their name and he’d go, “Oh, really? That’s such a beautiful name.” And makes MC so happy because Lucifer just said he likes their name!

But skip a little into the future where angel MC gets a little older but they get really scared over something and they run into the nearest dark place, which just happened to be the alleyway where Lucifer was walking by.

He sees MC sniffling and gets so worried and approches them calmly then says your name and goes, “Are you alright? Is something the matter?” But MC doesn’t want to talk to him and just positions their body away from Lucifer, getting all defensive and defiant.

Lucifer eventually gets close enough to where he can crouch in front on MC and place his hand on their back, soothing them by rubbing it slowly.

“Can you tell me what happened?” But MC would still refuse to talk and Lucifer would sigh in defeat.

He digs something out of his pocket and presents it to MC and they look at it. With MC’s attention, he says, “This is a magical necklace. See?” And he would make the necklace softly glow with his magic and MC is in awe with it.

He then takes MC’s hand and places the necklace in their palm, closing their hand around it before saying, “If you ever feel scared, hold this necklace right against your chest, and I will always be with you in spirit. No matter what challenges you face, just know that with this necklace, I will never leave your side.”

Then they never saw Lucifer again after that day, but MC has always worn the necklace and never let it out of their sight.

Then fast forward to when the war begins.

MC is older now, about maybe 7000 angel years (looks like about 20-30 human years) and their frantically looking around to see if they can find Lucifer.

They know he’s probably forgotten about them, but that doesn’t mean MC won’t fight along side him.

But MC’s heart is shattered when they see Lucifer is falling from the heavens.

They scream and run towards him but they couldn’t help him. They’re on their knees and they start to cry.

After the war comes to an end, MC is devastated and broken. They’re not in their right mind anymore, with having just witnessed the love of their life slip from their fingers and fall to his death.

MC thinks Lucifer is dead until several thousands of years later, Lucifer’s face shows up in the Celestial Realm once again accompanied by his brothers and the demon kind’s son. But this time his wings are black, he has pointed spirals adjourning his head, and aura is that of a demon.

MC hears wind that Lucifer and his brothers are here as a last resort to restore peace between the Devildom and the Celestial Realm.

So when Lucifer and company enter the main estate of the Celestial Realm, MC waits by patiently until the sun dims down and the doors finally open once more.

MC waits until Lucifer is by himself.

Lucifer is walking into an alleyway when MC walks up behind him. They’re about to grab his shoulder, but Lucifer reacts quickly and pins MC to the wall, his forearm on their chest.

“Who are you?” But MC is too stunned to speak. He asks again and MC snaps out of it.

MC explains everything and Lucifer slowly backs away from MC.

“Show me.” MC looks at him confused. “Show me the necklace. Prove it to me. Prove to me who you say you are.”

And MC shows him the necklace.

Lucifer walks as close as he can and shows his own version of the necklace.

They’re the same shape, same design. A gold heart with a tiny angel feather in the middle, only now, Lucifer’s is black.

Lucifer brings his closer to MC’s and both necklaces start to glow. Lucifer slowly looks up at MC and looks into their eyes for the first time ever since that fateful day, and wraps his arms around their neck, leaning in to kiss them.

MC immediately kisses back and wraps their arms around his waist, pulling him closer.

MC’s heart is pounding, thinking of how long they wanted this day to come and now they finally have it.

Their first kiss is slow and sensual, then they break it to gasp for air. When they share their second kiss, a flame ignites their heart’s desires and they share a passionate and equally lustful hunger for each other, their lips moving fast and sloppy.

By the time they share their third kiss, they’re in MC’s bedroom, Lucifer on his back on MC’s bed.

They both kiss with such veracity as if it would satiate their ever-growing desire for each other.

MC’s hands are focused on removing Lucifer’s clothing, while Lucifer’s are focused on removing MC’s clothing. But when they both are naked and exploring each other’s bodies, they stop moving for a moment to stare into each other’s eyes.

“Are you sure you want this?”

MC kisses Lucifer and preps him with a bottle of lube he had summoned.

Hearing Lucifer moan for the first time only makes MC harder. MC scissors Lucifer open until they think he’s ready and Lucifer hands them the bottle of lube.

MC wastes so time in lathering themself up and inserting themself inside Lucifer.

MC loves the way Lucifer arches his back and clenches the bed sheets.

MC adores the sound of Lucifer’s sounds. They sound so pretty, so perfect, exactly how they imagined them to be.

Then MC starts to move and they don’t stop until the sun brightens again and they both pass out from exhaustion.

It’s only the morning after that Lucifer reveals the truth about the necklace.

“It’s a necklace that ties one soul to another, then their souls form an eternal bond. A bond that can never be broken.”

A Soulmate Bond.

[gomu-fer]

Pajarito Colibrí

Reader comforts Law drabble

Inspired by Natalia Lafourcade’s song Pajarito Colibrí, this song reminds me a lot to Law so I had to. Depictions of a breakdown but nothing crazy I believe, angst turn comfort? Happy ending

Masterlist

Law’s chest begins to fall quicker each breath he took, suddenly he es very aware of the heavy pain on his chest and his loud breathing hitting his ears. He looks down at his hands, inked with the word death, a reminder that he only brings misery to those around him, deaths touch. Everything spirals as he falls on his haunting memories, afraid of the future as he tries to hide form his past, happiness deemed impossible, an unrealistic dream he’s sure he’ll never fulfill. He covers his watering eyes, everything going black but, how could he hide from himself? He whimpers like a wounded dog and he’s certain there’s no way to get rid this pain that hangs heavy on his heart

“LAW!” your voice rings trough the walls of his office and he jolts up, meeting your worried eyes comforting him immeasurably and your hands positioned on either side of him

You had knocked 3 times on the door and called his title like 3 more, hearing no response only being met by a heavy uncontrollable breathing, opening the door to see your Captain trembling and completely lost.

You had never seen Law like this, he always seemed to project himself like this brave, confident, respectable Captain, having everything under control a plan for every situation; but as the dark night fell upon the moving waters of the sea, he becomes doubtful, afraid and at lost of breath.

You bring him back and he can’t believe it, his hands rest on your arms, making sure you’re real, that you’re here. Your eyes go over his tortured expression and it breaks your heart in a million peaces, you pray for the universe to set him free for whatever comes and haunts him in his solitude. You wish you had keep vigil for when he cried without comfort and sleep seemed to be a far away promise, to glue his broken parts together

Your hands caress his anguished face “Everything’s going to be ok” you assure the poor pirate as you hold him close a little doubtful but with the outmost care; caresses still rhythmic on his raven hairs, his arms heavy with grief holding onto you like a scared child holds onto his favorite plushie after a nightmare under the covers

You stay intertwined, your sweet voice whispering words Law wishes anyone would’ve had the tact to sing to him, he’s sure you were sent by an angel to keep him safe and sound, to ground him

“Don’t be scared” like magic he feels the heavy pain fall from his chest, his head falling onto the crook of your neck wetting it with his sour tears and broken sniffs. His heartbeat decelerates and syncs to yours, your breath like a calming melody threading with your voice that spills like honey forming a comforting blanket over his form, relaxing his rambling thoughts melting completely

Pulling back, his eyes that had shut open meeting your features once again “Law, don’t be afraid to live, I’ll be here to help you trough everything, please understand you’re here to be happy” he can feel himself breaking again, for the love your words carry, he can just nod and a smile tugs at your sweet lips that washes his worries away like the ocean waves, becoming foam, disappearing, never here

“Let’s get you to bed”

[persephone11110]

rain is a good thing

Jake‘Hangman’Seresin x Reader

Chapter 1 : Astraphobia

warnings: astraphobia(means fear of storms), mentions of storms—raining, mentions of bleeding—blood,protective jake seresin, YOUR HONOR THEY STILL LOVE EACHOTHER

Chapter Summary: Two things Y/n hates—one how loud the thunder and rain is outside and two how much even as an ex Jake Seresin still knows her like the back of his hand.

author note: I realized that chpt1 sucked really bad and so I decided to rewrite chpt 1 AND IM SO SO SORRY TO ANYONE WHO READ IT!!!, I just re-read it and its not good at all— i wrote like it was 2+1 and not a chapter. Instead meeting Jake in chpt 2 like I originally planned hes gonna be here chpt1— erase CHPT1; A Trip Down Memory out of your mind PLZ

WC: 1K

Previous | Next

Series Masterlist

—

Jaw clenched, you stood at your bedroom window looking out the windows staring at how angry the clouds looked— you were glued to the spot as the EAS that was broadcasted more than couple minutes ago made the agonizing thoughts you had about outside worse “Remember Y/n its normal for it to rain during the summer because its so hot”. Dr. Michaels voice was in the back of your mind reminding you to stop spiraling.

Glancing back at the clouds from the rain you finally decided to walk away. Lying flat on your back, you attempted to close your eyes, If he was here he would lightly chastise you—for laying on the floor. That one day your going to get stuck on the floor, stuck in a human shaped star position. Reading did always take your mind off the real world, you enjoyed putting yourself in character.

You groaned as you got up from the floor your back loudly cracking, unkindly reminding you aren’t in your a teen anymore. Did you fall asleep while reading because the book was perfectly laid on your stomach while, the cup of juice you brought from the kitchen was knocked over. “Thats just great Y/n now you actually have leave the comfort of your bedroom”. You murmured to yourself— aggravated with how clumsy you were.

Sighing, you rubbed at your temples as you looked at the red mess behind you— would it be bad if you left the sticky mess right where it was?

Ants, those tiny ass insects scared you. How could something so small cause so much destruction?

As both sides of your brain fought with you smartly decided to go to your kitchen to grab napkins.

The sound of a lighting strike outside your apartment caught you by surprise making you drop the cup filled with on the kitchen floor. You hate when this happens-your vision was already becoming blurry and hand started to slowly tremble, you swallowed hard listening to the sounds of rain drops smacking into the window.

“Just get up, and focus on something else”a thought enters your mind. Using the strength you have , you decide to try and pick up the glass shards around you, not l thinking of the prickly feeling in your fingers, or the smell of blood coming from your hands. Just focus on something else Y/n you repeated to yourself.

Should’ve stayed somewhere safe Y/n— your back was doing that weird tingly thing again. It felt like something crawling under your skin.

Maybe Dr.Michaels was still in her office?

Your eyelids heavy with tears, you grab your phone out of your pocket. You drag your trembling fingers over the screen typing in Dr. Michaels emergency number-listening to the phone dial out, you lift the phone to hear waiting for her calm voice to be on the other side.

“I can’t answer your call right now, however please leave your name, number and message— I’ll get back to you as soon as I can”.

“Please help me, I’m so scared.. I’m so scared”. A sob escaped from your mouth, your entire body rattling with fear.

Thunder rumbled through the sky, the rain sounded like bullets hitting the window and you were pretty sure you getting closer and closer to death.

You didn’t attempt to move again not knowing if you got up would your feet fail you. The thunder got worse and the sounds of bullets turned into a heavy pour, you leaned your body aganist your kitchen counter-using it as a bed and a chair.

The sound you heard next wasn’t thunder getting louder or a tree branch breaking because of the wind. At first you ignored it, hoping if you didn’t acknowledge it wasn’t real.

But apart of you wandered what was making the awful loud sound. What is your imagination?, were you having a nightmare?

The sound was getting louder and louder, you finally realized somebody was at your door-knocking.

What crazy ass person would risk their life?, who wants to get sick in the middle of summer?

It be rude to let the person stand outside even longer, making yourself get up you fall into the counter while getting up.

“Sweetheart”.

You fell into his soaking body not caring about the wetness. A sound of relief falls out of your mouth, you eyes squeezed shut not wanting to see the angry clouds.

“C’mon darlin don’t want you getting sick”. Jake tightly wrapped his hands around you-gently pushing you back inside. “Shh, follow my breathing Y/n”. Somehow your sitting on the couch and Jake sitting on the table infront of you.

“J-Jake”, you whimpered. “Scared”.

“I know sweetheart don’t listen to outside just listen to my voice”. Jake grabs your hand and pulls it to his heart. “Your alive darlin, just your mind playin tricks on you again”.

Finally your breathing back normal, your mind kind of still foggy.“Jake why are you here w-with me?”.

“You called me darlin”. Jake rubbed at your knuckles,“As soon as I heard your voicemail I left Javys and drove like a bat out of hell”.

You leaned your head aganist Jakes bare chest, unable to make eye contact with him—blushing with embarrassment you’ve could swore the number was Dr. Michaels.

“You called me Y/n, you called and I answered as simple as that”. Jake hums a tune from a Nina Simone song that you can’t remember right now, “I got you darlin”.

Taglist :)

@chocolatefartstrawberry , @buckysteveloki-me , @dontletthemtakeyoualive, @kellyls04

[batchilla]

Chapter One - Till Death Do Us Part

Till death do us part. The words swim in Jason’s mind as he lays in bed beside you, the wedding band heavy on his finger, a once comforting weight now seeming to burn, as though the metal of your shared promise made manifest was burning the very flesh of his hand, stoked by a fire of guilt and worry. 

Till death do us part. 

Sometimes, he had wondered how he got so lucky, how you could be so foolish as to pick him. 

He was scared, he was broken, he had done terrible things. He didn’t deserve anyone as good as you. As kind. As … forgiving. He might have deserved you once - he had met you a lifetime ago, a bright eyed boy wonder still growing into his mantle as Robin, a teenage Jason Todd so sure he could change the world, because he was Robin, and Robin made him magic, a force for the better. Maybe that version of him deserved you. But that boy is long dead. 

Till death do us part. 

Except you hadn’t. He had died. You were parted. Yet when he came back, there you were. Reaching out a hand of love and understanding as soon as you knew who he (as the Red Hood) was. Batman - No, it was a personal, emotional call - Bruce. Bruce had called you in, because if anyone could help pull him out of the spiral he’d been in, you could. You did. You didn’t save him - no one person did. His family did, and he did. 

Till death do us part.

You were family, he’d realised. His rock. His best friend. A title that felt utterly shallow compared to what you were to him. Roy became his best friend… and you his world. His family. You were more than just his girlfriend… and after a proposal on the snowy grounds of Wayne manor on christmas morning, his fiance, and then his wife… Until the day the doctor confirmed your pregnancy, you had made up the whole of his world, which only grew when little Mary was born. 

Till death do us part. 

You’d always known the risks. Even when you were kids, when he was still Robin, rescuing you every few weeks when your mothers position as a judge got you in hot water, you had been aware of how much worse falling for him could make things for you, and you had fallen regardless.  You knew when you first held his hand and kissed his cheek, first been spotted by the Gotham paparazzi with a Wayne, first helped stitch him back together after a patrol gone wrong, you knew the risks. To him, and to you. You might be used against him. He might not come home one day. 

Till death do us part.

Jason turns to his side, watching you sleep. You looked so happy. So peaceful. You looked like you knew you were safe - and you were. He’d die again before anyone touched you. Either of you. 

He stands, slowly and quietly, so as not to wake you as he creeps down the hall to the nursery, where Mary lays sleeping. The room is glowing faintly green from the glow in the dark decals on the wall, and the unicorn nightlight by the bed illuminates her sleeping face. He doesn’t lift her out of the tiny, child size bed - she was a light sleeper, and given she was rather energetic, getting her to sleep again would be difficult, as tempting as it was to hold her in his arms, never to let go. 

He’d cried when you told him, and when he held her for the first time - and quite a few subsequent times. She had grown so much, and yet she was still so small. So small. A sad smile comes to Jason’s face. His little cherub… his baby girl… he’d never, ever forgive himself for what happened today.  

Till death do us part. You both had wanted this. He had wanted a family with you. In his dreams, Mary would be the first of at least three. Maybe when they were older they’d take up their own mantles - maybe they’d live normal lives. He’d adore them regardless. He’d watch his kids thrive as he didn’t get to until Bruce. He’d be the father he never had, loving and attentive, and thanks to his … previous extra legal activity and Bruce’s habit of spending his billions irresponsibly when it came to his kids, they’d want for nothing.  You’d move to a city a little safer for raising kids.  He’d retire the Red Hood when you both got older and you insisted, protesting, but secretly glad to finally be able to spend his evenings curled up by the fire with you. Maybe he’d write a book. Maybe he’d get a dog. There were a dozen maybes that were each as lovely as the last, but the only certainty he’d known for this beautiful future he’d dreamt up is you’d be at his side. 

Till death do us part, afterall. He’d meant his vow, just as you had meant yours.

Today, that had changed. Roman Sionis had changed it. It had been a standard patrol, when a man in a dark suit approached. Best Jason could tell, which really meant the best Oracle could tell, was the man was a PI, a civilian. That plausible deniability on whether or not he truly understood who exactly had paid him was the only reason he was still breathing. It had been a close call. 

The man had handed Jason an envelope, inside it a blurry photograph. 

It was you, sitting near the window of the penthouse apartment Bruce had given Jason and you as a wedding gift, feeding Mary. A message scrawled in black ink on the back lists your name, your place of work, and a musing that it would be a terrible thing for an example to be made out of a pair of innocents if the Red Hood couldn’t stop sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. 

Jason still wanted that life. Roman Sionis had made it clear it could never be. 

He’d kill him. Code be damned, no one threatens his wife and child. 

But that would take time, time where you and Mary would be in danger. 

 You had known the risks, on one level. Both of you had. But when it became real, no longer theoretical…

Staring down at his sleeping daughter, Jason makes a choice.

The next morning when he drops Mary off with Alfred at the manor, so he knows she’s safe, and so that you too can properly talk, without needing to worry about her while you have what is surely to be the worst morning of either of your lives. “Thrilled as I am to see the young miss,” Alfred says, taking the bottle bag, Diaper bag, stroller, cuddly robin toy and the child that bears his mothers name, handling the sudden handoff with deft proficiency, “Might I suggest master todd that if you and Ms Todd wish for alone time you kindly call ahead?” On another day he might have laughed, but not today. 

His shoulders slump ever so slightly, and he shakes his head. “Not exactly that kind of alone time Pennyworth.”

Seeing the look on Jason's face, Alfred quickly hands little Mary off to a passing Cass, ushering Jason into the kitchen and pressing a cup of tea into his hands. “What’s happened lad?” It rushes out of him like word vomit, like bile forcing its way up his throat as he recounts it all. 

The photo. Roman. The threat. As long as you are with him, as long as he is in Mary’s life, as long as Roman Sionis is alive, you can never be safe. How he needs to divorce you, and how he needs Bruce’s help, Barbra's help, hell, Dick’s help, everyone's help, to make the story convincing enough for Roman, and how he has no idea how the fuck he’s going to tell you. 

He hopes desperately to be scolded that he’s being dramatic. For Alfred to say something pompous about how he’d be a fool to do this. The way Alfred instead rises from his seat at the table and pulls him into a hug, is the final nail in the coffin for that hope, as Jason cries into his grandfather’s shoulder. 

[5cookiekitty-nsfw]

*『Till Death Do Us Part』

Yandere zombieman x f.reader 《nsfw》

Summary: or the one where an open balcony leads you downa spiral tha you won't be able to come back from. He's always been patient after all.

Tw: yandere , yandere behavior , implied unwanted medical procedures , marriage through bargain, zombieman name is tadashi , smut: fingering , oral(F receiving) , creampie(wrap that willy kids) , reader has a sort of breakdown

Word count:8.77k

It was deep into the night when you woke up. The cold breeze that had originally disturbed you from your slumber made itself once more known , bringing with it the smell of fresh rain. Another breeze caused her to squirm deeper underneath the covers as you bundled them closer to your body. Now warm , you dozed back off , almost falling asleep once more when a thought crossed your head.

you should not be able to feel the cold breeze unless-

you opened your eyes fully now and blinked away the blurriness of your vision. you were right in your assumption. The door to the balcony that led from their bedroom was open. There was a figure standing there , one who you had long ago associated with such a possessive love that it threatened to ensnare you deeper into its loving dark embrace.

He was wearing a pair of gray sweats and a black tank top and in his hand you could see his trademark cigarette hanging from his fingers.

You once told him that if he wasn't for his immortality , lung cancer would kill him long before any monster could.

He then told you that if he wasn't immortal then he wouldn't have to fight any monsters.

Batard. You still remember having to hold yourself back from knocking the teasing smirk off his face.

A lighting strike hits somewhere in the distance and allows for the room to be illuminated with light for a few seconds before returning to a semi pitch black. From your view of his backside position you could see a puff of smoke leave as it came in too few of his side.

You were one of the very few people permitted - allowed really - to see him like this. Shoulders sagged in relaxation and no stress over when the next monster would pop out. He used to worry over your safety and life but he had long ago eliminated that issue.

You shook your head and the thought along with it.

A cold breeze once more drafted through the room and while it didn't affect you like it normally would, it was still annoying to feel. Especially with you wrapped up around a warm blanket. The contrast of the two was what was really bothering you-

He moved. Leaning over the railing of the balcony - there was an extended roof so he didn't have to worry about the rain - he crossed his legs and , in your eyes , looked a little more like the human he was than the monster he was forced to be.

During moments like this, when he reminds you of his humanity , multiple things cross your mind. How could a man who swore to protect lives take the one who mattered to him the most. Even till this day the betrayal still stings and leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You were difficult , oh so difficult , in the beginning of…of this strange relationship yall had going on. But there's only so much a person can take until stubbornness to fight gives wave to tiredness of fighting.

The first time he had come home to you sleepin in the bed instead of on the floor you swore his eyes would have bulged out his head.

You pulled yourself away from the memory to focus on the one who caused it instead.

Despite being a prestigious , famed , and powerful hero , said hero has yet to notice or feel your eyes drilling into his person. That was probably due to the lack of survival instincts he has undeveloped due to them not being needed. Don't really need to worry about danger if nothing can kill you.

(you shiver when the thought of his immortality brought memories of how you came to get yours)

Another breeze coming through the open glass doors , though , was enough to remind you of why you had even been up in the first place. You hand twitched under the covers as you debated on whether or not to disturb him or turn your back to the window and bundled up even closer to the covers.

Another breeze wafted in and goosebumps popped up on your skin.

Despite your better judgment “,If you're going to smoke outside , at least close the doors,” you finally spoke. The sound of your voice caused him to tilt his head back as red eyes like the prettiest of ruby's met yours. He turned his body slightly to face in your direction slightly as he smiled apologetically.

“Sorry , didn't mean to wake you.” it annoyed you how sincere he sounded , it only made you more irritated knowing he was.

Zombieman , despite all the wrongs he has done for , has never done them out of malice. He was crazy and unpredictable at times but you knew the one thing you could count on being true from him was his deep rooted love for you.

Even now as you scowled at him tiredly his eyes never once lost that gleam that looked at you with such love it shined even if he was scowling.

“Well you did,” you huffed out and you made a show of pulling the thick covers closer to your body. Zombieman just huffed out a quiet laugh right back at you as he turned his face to look back outside. He fingers strummed in a way you had learned that meant he was thinking before facing back towards your burrito form.

“Join me.” While the sentence itself was simple , the statement he was saying was not. Before , zombieman had barely let you leave the room and while you had full range of the house , there were still some things he did not trust you could do. Being able to go outside the house was one of them. You could look out the window longingly but the moment you tried to open it he was on your ass like a tax collector.

You grumbled , but even you weren't stubborn enough to fight him on your first chance of going out in months - 9 to be exact. And so you slid from the bed , grabbed one of the smaller fluffy blankets to wrap around your body and went to join him outside.

As expected , he wrapped his form around yours and with your body trapped between him and the railing - the both of you stood there in silence as you listened to the rain. By some miracle that cancer stick was surviving in such weather and every moment or so he would bring it to his lips to take a long drag. You took advantage of the freedom you had been given to take a long look at the scenery that you had only seen through the glass window.

Zombieman's house was in a reclusive part of the city and cut off from all his other neighbors. He lived on a hill surrounded by trees and with a decent size front and back yard. From where you stood , if you squinted enough , you were able to see the other houses that looked tiny from the distance you were at.

A hand on your hip brought you of the daze looking at the rain had brought on. Rubbing circles on where your slip on dress was covering the area , he brought his lips to kiss the top of your forehead. You ignored his affectionate gesture and instead looked down towards the tempting ground. If only you could jump off - it's not like any damage would last long anyway.

“I can practically hear you thinking about it.” looks like you weren't as subtle as you hoped. “Don't. it hurts and unlike me you're not used to the pain that near death brings on.” he stated and , apparently , you looking down at the ground had been the catalyst for him to just grab the blanket you had wrapped around yourself and replace it with his arms now that he had finally finished that cigarette of his.

“That was unnecessary.” you stated as you looked longingly over at your blanket laying sprawled out on one of the chairs. You turn your head back towards the tree line though when you hear some sort of sound. The longer you listen though , the more you begin to realize it's some sort of music. The kind that as a child you would have been running around in circles as you flung your arms up and down in a childish glee of happiness.

“Oh hey , That reminds me.” The sound of the music made you remember what you were going to ask him. Zombieman hummed in acknowledgement. It wasn't often that you asked for anything from him and he was always eager to please you to get in your favor. “I saw on the news,” you could feel him burning eyes into your skull “,That there was going to be a little festival tomorrow out in the city…” you trailed off towards the end when he made no sound.

It was silent for a few seconds before he spoke “no.”

“Oh come on!” you spinned on your heel to face him - you ignored the way you had to crane your neck to look up at him - as those ruby red’s of his stared you down. The furrow in his eyebrow was a clear indication of the slight frustration he knew was going to start building up. “I'm stuck in here everyday with nothing to do but watch tv or sit around and do nothing!”

“You have books you can read,” he said calmly.

“Means jack shit when I've read them all ten times over!”

you don't know how it happened; just that one moment you were screeching at him like a petulant brat and the next , his arms slammed on either side of you on the railing as he leaned down. “Watch it , brat.” the growl in his voice would have made you scared. That entire display should have made you scared. It didn't. But you weren't about to test the limits of his patience tonight.

Instead , you opted for a different approach.

You willed yourself to wilt like a dried up flower as you gave him those sad eyes you knew he was weak for. “Come on , I'm going insane with being looked up like this.” he swallowed , one hand coming to rest on your hip as the other drummed behind him.

“y/n-”

“Zombie.” then you were fiddling with the hem of his pants with one hand as the other went to splay itself across his chest when his slow beating heart laid. “Please?” you looked up at him from under your fluttering eyelashes looking very much like a false image of innocence that you were displaying. You could feel him shudder against you. You could practically feel him restrain himself as he went to grab at your wrist attached to the hand on his chest - he didn't move it however.

“y/n , no.” he sternly said but your ears were immediately attracted to the slight waver in his voice.

“y/n , yes.” you gently took your hand from his hold before hooking both arms around his neck. A shudder breath left his nose. “Tadashi please. I want to go.” hook , line , sinker. The sound of his actual name leaving your lips had any fight in his body dispersing as he buried his face into your neck.

“Brat. i fell in love with a fucking brat.” was the mumble reply he gave as your hands busy themselves in playing with his hair. Two hands came to rest on your hip as he spoke “,Alright i concede. I’ll go out to buy you a kimono tomorrow.” Just as you were about to celebrate the victory he made it a point to raise his head from where it was laid as he grabbed at your chin to face it up towards him.

“But there's something I will like in return.”

.

.

.

.

The kimono he got was beautiful. It was komon styled and the obi , as he told you , was supposed to be tied in a bunk knot in the back.

It was black with red , white, and orange styled koi swimming between white ume flowers and golden japanese styled smoke like curves. While the koi fish did not reach the top of the kimono though , the white flowers and golden mist did. There was red fur around the neck line and the obi was a beautiful red with white and yellow flowers and the obijime was a simple black. You wore some geta style sandals on your feet and you had put on a bit of touch up makeup and earrings.

It was when after you had gotten done doing your hair and putting in a lantern styled hair pin did you hear him open the front door. “y/n , let's go!” he called out and you were quick to scramble up to make your way downstairs where you got a look at him this morning.

He had changed into a black turtleneck tucked into some black skinny jeans and wore a simple pair of red dress shoes. He , of course , still wore a trench coat though this one reflected the pattern on your kimono - colors and all and you could see the gun he had hidden by said trench coat. He was fiddling with his hand , smiling oh so happily as he did so and it made your stomach clench at the reminder of what you had to give up to even go out.

He had stopped though once he heard your feet pattering down the stairs and you could see the way his eyes gleamed in dark pleasure once his eyes caught sight of the small thing. His eyes practically stalked your movement as you walked towards him and you , eyeing you like a kid about to unwrap a nicely done present to shreds.

“You look beautiful.” he complimented once you got into ams reach at which point he pulled you closer to fix your hair pin. “Since the festival is to celebrate the end of the monster association the hero association sent someone over to come pick us up.” he then move on to fix the string tied around your obi as he spoke “,we’re going in thru a different way then everybody else at which point were allowed to do whatever until 10. Then I have to leave to go sit with the other participants from the raid as they release the fireworks and give out speeches…” his hand at some point had found purchase on your hip as he gave it a good squeeze “i expect you to behave when i'm not with you.” the dark tilt to his voice made your hand twitch.

“Of course.”

He loosened his hold before giving you a kiss on the forehead as his phone went off. He kept one hand on your hip as he looked down at his phone before shuffling it in his pocket. “They’re here.” he commented and it made you perk up. Zombieman gave a small chuckle as he pulled you along. “Let's go pretty girl.” you ignored the nickname in favor of distracting yourself as you left the house for the first time in what feels like years.

Fresh crisp air entered your lungs and you never thought that you would be happy with the way you had to step away to avoid messing up your outfit. Zombiemna kept his hold on your hand tight as he pulled you along the walkway of his yard and out the gate where a black car was waiting on the curb. He opened the back door , gave you one hard look that promised punishment if you were to do anything , before ushering you in.

It was a decent size car with enough leg room. You felt zombieman get in and slide his way over towards where you were sitting and place an arm around your shoulders as the car began to move. While he made small talk with the driver he obviously knew , you were focused on looking out the car window as trees passed by in a blur.

“And this is?” The conversion that you were only paying half attention to is now brought to your full attention as the question is directed towards you. Zombieman sits up straighter - prideful , you realize - as he relaxes back into the cushion behind him. You feel his hand come up to play with the baby hairs from where his hand was wrapped around your shoulders. He looked like the cat who ate the canary - bones , feathers , and all - as he spoke.

“This is y/n.” he says and with his hand still wrapped around you , grabs your other hand before bringing it close to his lips. “My fiance.” The ring glistened in the setting sun as he placed a kiss on your hand.

.

.

.

.

You wave goodbye to the driver and thank him as he drives off. Zombieman stands at your side as the two of you begin to walk towards the entrance. The person at the back entrance looks up - only to freeze at the sight of you and zombieman walking towards him “,We thought that you weren't coming.” the man said in a surprisingly even tone as the both of you reached him.

“My fiance wanted to come.” was the explanation he offered and you could see the way the man's eyes widened as he glanced over at you. “Well then , I suppose a congratulation is in order.” he said as he scanned his card on a metal pad allowing for the gate to open. “Enjoy the fun.” zombieman hummed but you made sure to give the man a thank you as the both of you walked in.

It was slightly packed already and you stopped for a moment to look around. There were kids running around and everyone was dressed up nicely - you even saw a couple of heroes with kimonos on - and the place smelled rampant of delicious sweets and savory foods. You could see the game’s from where the both of you were standing in a backstage short of area that was blocked off to everyone else.

Then a hand came to rest on the bottom curve of your back that made you stiffen in surprise. Warmth spread on the side of your face as his breath fluttered on your skin. “Come on pretty girl. You begged me to come here.” you gave a huff of annoyance but decided to move anyway. He moved his hand to warp around your waste as you walked towards a game.

The promoter did a double take at the man behind you before explaining the game. Using a fishing hook , you had three tries to get one of the fish at which point - depending on what's inside the box fish - you could choose a prize. The only problem was that the fishes moved like real ones so if you were not fast enough they could flip off the hook before you even grabbed it.

As you were turning around to ask zombieman to pay - the man held up his hand and shook his head. “No need miss , everything is free to the heroes who participated and their families and or partners.” you blushed a little at that last part but otherwise took one of the fishing rods he gave you. You messed up the first two but you were able to snatch the last fish once you reeled back in your line.

You felt a zombieman come to stand closer behind you to look over your shoulder as you opened up the toy fish. It was a green card which you showed the man. “Ah! That means you can pick any of the prizes on the wall.” You had the man grab a bunny with strawberry ears that you took and thanked him for before squealing in happiness as you hugged it close. You grabbed zombieman hand’s and began to pull him to the next game.

And that's how it went for the next couple of hours. You were happy and giddy as you pulled the undead hero to game after game to play. He even played some and by the time you both went to get something to eat , zombieman's hands were full of plushies and trinkets as the both of you walked towards the hero only section. “I have to go store these.” he jostled the toys held in his arms and you gave a sheepish smile at him. You didn't realize you had gotten more than many and were making him carry all of that. “Stay here.” ahh , there's the sternness “i’ll be back in a minute.”

You watch him walk off and for the first time in months you are left alone with all types of ways to escape. You could run - run so far and so fast that by the time he comes back you will be gone and he will be left with nothing but heartbreak. Or you could try to tell one of the heroes running about that you have been kidnapped and be out of here with a new identity somewhere far far away from him.

But the thought of it makes your heart clench and you hate it. You hate the way you gave in so easily that night and now a ring made of your very flesh and blood sits on your hand - not even cutting it off will save you as it was a piece of you now. You hate the way your body seems to grow hot and bothered whenever his touches turned a little less innocent and it made you want to scream out at him to just do something so that you had a reason to hate him.

But you don't and he doesn't because he loves in his own twisted way and he couldt bear the thought of doing any harm to your person.

You hate yourself -

As you wallow in your thoughts , you weren't able to notice a person coming up beside you before a hand was placed on your shoulder that brought you out of your thoughts. You jumped and looked up to make eye contact with a man who was giving you a smile. "Hey there beautiful , why are you sitting all by yourself when you could be with me.” you gave him an uncomfortable smile. You were not used to other peoples touches other than zombieman for the past few months so the feeling of someone else's hands on you made your body shiver in disgust.

“No thank you. My fiance should be back in a moment.” you wanted this man gone. He was so..plain looking compared to your captor. Much weaker to and due to you being used to shoving off a playful s-class hero who wanted nothing more than to continue to hold you , removing this dude's hands from your shoulder was like flicking off a bug. “Please don't touch me.”

The men , who you could identify as a drunk if the pinkness in his cheeks was anything to go by , did not like that. He raised his hand towards you , about to slap you - something zombieman would never do - as he gave out a snarl. “You little-”

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” The air grew frigid cold and both you and the man looked to where the all familiar voice came from. annoyed , yes. Irritated , yes. But you have never so much heard the hero sound so blatantly furious as the snarling question left his lips. Zombieman stood behind the dude and that moment he very much looked like the s-class hero who’s battle’s brough river of blood to the street just the way he liked it

There was a glare on his usually laid back face and his body was tense like he was about to tear the guy to shreds at any moment. He took a single glance in your direction as he asserted your form for any indication of you healing any damages before turning those glaring red eyes back on the drunk “Why are you even back here?”

“I-i…umm.” the man stammered out before his eyes locked onto you. “That girl was back here so i went to-”

“That ‘girl’ is my fiance.” The snarl shut the man up who quickly became clammy as he realized how big of a mistake he had just made. “I'm feeling extra generous today so here's what is going to happen. You're going to apologize to my girl , leave , and hope I never see your face ever again cause I will not be showing you the same mercy a second time.” The man did exactly as he was told as he apologized to you before running out of there like the devil was on his heel.

Zombieman watched the man leave and you could see the way his hand moved towards his gun- “Tadashi!” you quickly said and he dropped his hand from where it was rising. “I wasn't going to do nothing.” he said as he walked over towards you before pulling you up to your feet. “I wouldn't want to ruin my girl's day out.” he pulled you along to a food truck that was quick to serve you two.

The night went mostly well after the incident even if you did have to stop him from shooting another guy who was flirting with you. By the time 10 rolled around he was on the stage and you were sent to the back along with other heroes' families as hero representatives gave speeches before the fireworks were released. By the time everything was said and done zombieman was agitated and ready to leave and you had your fill of fun for the day.

And now you sat in the backseat of the car with your trashbug of stuffies stuffed in the car trunk. The sound of zombieman speaking on the phone was lulling you to sleep and you could feel yourself slouch slightly as you became drowsy. You heard him stop talking for a moment before a hand was wrapping around you and pulling you down into a lap.

You fell asleep to the feel of his rubbing circles on your arm as his voice carried you to sleep.

•~•○•~•

Weeks later and zombieman was officially able to call you his wife.

Now as you sit on the bed with your ‘husband’ - a shudder runs through your body at the thought - outside smoking a cigarette you can't help but wonder how your life turned out like this. From a lonely girl with no family and friends to a married woman with a devoted obsessed husband in the span of a few months. Honestly-

Your hand was being snatched up with your wrist being held tightly causing you to automatically unclench your fist. It was then that you noticed you had been clenching your fist hard enough to draw blood from your nails seeping into the skin and from the skin over your knuckles breaking. It was healed within seconds and seeing it only made you bitter.

How did your life ever come to this?

“y/n.” you look up and catch the eye of the man who was the cause of all this. Your heart , your poor confused , gullible , heart skipped a beat. He was looking down at you , worried and lips pulled thin as he loosened his hold on your wrist. You hated the way your first reaction was to reassure him you were ok instead of snatching your hand away.

You couldt stand to look at him anymore , least you bare face to the truth that you did-

You shook your head and the thoughts away with it as you snatched your hand away from his. You ignored the hurt look on his face in favor of rubbing your wrist and twisting your hand over. But of course , it wouldt be that easy.

It never was.

“Pretty girl.” the bed dipped as zombieman sat on it. “What's wrong?” there was a hand on your shoulder…that was all it took for you to nearly launch yourself out of bed and away from him. “y/n!” The surprise shout of your name caused you to whirl on him as you faced him with a glare.

“Don't touch me.” While you wished you could tell yourself that you sounded strong , you knew you didn't. Your voice waiver and you shook with a desperation for something. “Just-just…go away.” you said. You stumbled back though once he crawled over the bed and went stand on your side. You sent him a glare and gave a snarl.

“What's gotten into you so suddenly?” he questioned and you barely had time to think out his name before his arms were wrapping around like a boa to restrict you to his chest. You snarled and began to try to squirm out of hold but he was much too strong for you to do anything. He lets you tire yourself out and soon enough your snarls turned into pants.

And pants into hiccuping cries.

tears began to slide out of your eyes like someone released the floodgates and you were unable to stop it. You could feel him look down in worry as you buried your head into his chest as if you were trying to hide the wetness on your face. You felt him move , pulling you along with him towards the bed where he plopped down against the headboard with you in his lap.

There was a comforting hand on your head as sweet whispers filled your ears. “It’s ok sweetness. There we go…” he cooed as your cries settled down to only sniffles from where he had you laid out on his chest. “Let it out , pretty girl.It's going to be ok.” the hand continued to pet you head; strong and grounding as the gentle hand of your husband dulled the breakdown to merely a cry.

You forced your head deeper into his chest as you spoke. “I hate you.” there was a low hum that vibrated to your cheek as a hand came to rest on your lower back. “No you dont.” a statement to counteract a statement. You forgot that he specialized in detective work within the HA - meaning he was able to pick apart every little piece of information that you wanted to keep hidden.

“Is that what that was all about?”

the hand on your head came to cup your cheek.

“Little brat doest know how to control her emotions so she lashes out , huh.”

Shut up.

“It’s completely natural, you know.”

A finger moved under your chin , bringing your face from his chest to meet his face eye to eye. You wanted nothing more than to look away.

“You don't hate me , pretty girl.”

Don't say it. Please , don't say it-

“You love me.”

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

You froze in place as lies stuttered on your lips to a complete halt. You ground your teeth together as words began to build themselves back onto your lip - only for them to be knocked out of your mouth and into non-existent courtesy of zombieman planting a kiss on your lips.

It was always the head , cheek , hand , anything but the lips with him. The shock caused your body to freeze for only a second , just one , before it relaxed against your better judgment. You were always told that the mind can be swayed easily - the heart is another matter though , and right now , your heart wants you to kiss him back while your mind screams at you to pull away.

Zombieman makes the decision for you. A hand comes up to your head and pushes you closer to deepen the kiss. Another hand was snaking down and a pinch on your bottom caused you to give out a gasp that allowed him to push his tongue in. you were forced to grab onto the t-shirt he wore to ground yourself Then you felt him grip your behind as that hand on your head jerked your forward and you knew what he wanted.

Despite your mind , you favored your heart's request and allowed yourself to kiss him back.

He hummed , pleased , as he tightened his hold on you. He didn't stop , and probably would have kept going on forever if it weren't for you pushing against his chest to get air. While he was used to not being able to breathe for long periods of time , you very much were not.

He broke the kiss and you could feel a blush spread across your cheeks as your eyes caught sight of a string of saliva connecting you two before it broke. You were breathing harshly as a long lost familiar feeling began to seep into the bones beneath your skin. The wandering hands on your body did little to help the matter.

“Pretty girl,�� his knuckle lifted your chin , cooing in delight as darken eyes drinked up your haze over expression. “if only you could see how you look right now.” You could only guess. Hooded eyes that were glossed over , drool seeping out of a mouth , and hair that was disheveled due to the previous treatment. A perfect image of someone about to be devoured until there's nothing left.

You squirmed in his hold and it caused him to once more wrap an arm around your waist to keep you steady as his lips ghosted the shell of your ear. “My pretty little wife.” the hand that was around your waist slithered its way to the front as his fingers drummed right where your pelvis area was. “Won't you allow me to show you how much i love you.”

Then his lips were on your neck. He could leave a permanent bruise or hickey , but he sure of a hell did try. Kissing , sucking , biting , licking , your neck was being treated like a whole meal and you did nothing but gasp and bend your head back to give him better access. You felt him hum , the vibration sending little sparks through your body , as his lips pressed firmly against the skin where your neck met your chest.

“I need an answer, pretty girl,” he bit the skin “,I need to hear you say that you want me as much as I want you.” there were hand planting themselves on your hip. “,need you,” those lips were trailing back up your neck until they reached your jaw. “,love you.” and then he left off by pushing his head back into your shoulder where he stayed - waiting on your answer.

Did you want this? You knew there would be no turning back if you allowed for this to happen. You love zombieman , it was useless to deny that fact , but did you love him enough to give yourself fully to him? To allow him to love you in the most intimate way possible and live with the consequences that may come from it?

The answer was yes.

And you couldt even hate yourself for thinking it. You had a bad life before zombieman took you. Living all by yourself in a small apartment after your parents had kicked you out for your favorite sister. You had no friends to turn to and worked in an office that you hated. Any attempt at dating ended in a breakup due to cheating of them just not wanting to deal with you anymore.

You could still recall the first time you met the immortal hero. The first eye contact you both made in that small coffee shop that brought you joy.

He brought you joy.

So despite the absurdity of the situation , despite the fact that he took you from the life you knew , despite the fact that he made you immortal like him - you don't think you would be able to deny him or yourself this.

“Tadashi,” there was a small groan as a kiss placed on your shoulder. “Please, Make love to me.” as the words left your lip’s , you swear that you hear the sound of chains locking in place.

Rising up from his position from your shoulder , he placed a kiss on your jaw before pushing you onto the bed as he climbed on top of you. The both of you stared at each other for a moment , enough for you to breathe in fresh air - before immediately having it stolen as his lips descended onto your’s.

This kiss was softer , more loving in the way he moved it against yours. You could feel his hand slip under your dress as you opened your mouth to let him in. his tongue pushed in and you gave a groan as it tangled with yours. He broke the kiss , peppering his way down to your neck where he once more began to maw on your skin. A particular bite had you yelping out as your body arched up slightly.

He used this to his advantage as he detached his lips from your neck in favor of slipping off your dresses completely to leave you in nothing but your underwear. You squirmed under his gaze as his eyes drinked up every inch of previously unseen skin. “Beautiful.” he whispered as a hand reached to grab a fistfull of your breast. “So beautiful,” he said , awe clearly in his voice as he fondled you.

He tugged you up , unclipped your bra , threw it somewhere , before pushing you back down: eyes watching the way your breath jingled as you bounced. He quickly began to kiss his way down from your collarbone to your mounds at which point he took a nub in his mouth while twisting and tugging the other one.

You cried out , hands scrambling for a purchase on the sheets as you clenched them. He would switch from one to the other and it was making you extremely hot , extremely fast. One particular suck that had sparks flying to your core had your hips bucking against the leg that had settled between your legs.

“Ahh yes,” he finally released your breast in favor of rubbing a finger on the dampness of your panties “,The main course.” he said as he started to tease the slit through the fabric. You gave a gutterled moan as he did so. “So wet baby.” he hissed before moving his body down so that his face was looking directly at your covered heat.

He tore your panties this time and the difference in air between your entrance and the room had you pulsing. He spread your legs further apart , hands gripping your thighs as he placed little kisses near the area your body was begging him to go. He did for a good 30 seconds before you grew impatient. “Stop teasing!” you snapped , embarrassed at the way your voice was pithed in pleasure.

“Brat.” was all he simply said but he abided by your commands. He buried your face between your thighs before laying his tongue flat against your folds before dragging it up and down. You gave an actual moan at this as your hands flew to his hair instinctively. He gave a groan , the vibrations brought even more pleasure through your body as he continued to flick his tongue up and down - back and forth.

Your thighs shook and he had to use his stretch to keep you from bucking wildly. One hand that was wrapped around your thigh began to creep closer while at the same time his tongue was moving and closer to your twitching and gushing entrance. He teased the hole , another hand moving to release your hips to spread your folds so that he could see the twitching entrance.

“You taste so good , baby.” he groaned out as he lifted his head slightly due to the fact that your hands were still tangled in his hair. “I want a taste from the source.” The growl in his voice was the only warning you got as he plunged his tongue into your core while , at the same time , another one of his hands wrapped around your thigh once more to twirl your clit in a way that had you seeing stars.

Your eyes rolled back as you tugged his head impossibly closer. He groaned as he continued to plunge his tongue in and out of your gummy walls. Your thighs shook as the sinful tongue of his licked the walls as it slid out. You began to whine , about to demand what he was doing when he plunged two of his thick rough fingers in to replace his tongue.

“Fucking deliouse.” he growled , red eyes scanning your face as it twisted in unimaginable pleasure. Those fingers curled and he had the honor of watching as your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you clamped down on him. “Do you like that baby? Did I find your sweet spot?” he asked as he directed his fingers to rut against that spot.

“Shit , shit , shit!” you chanted , crying out once more has he continued to finger fuck you all the while he brough his tongue down to twirl your clit. He gave it a long hard smooch before sucking it back into his mouth as his fingers scissored you open. “Oh fuck~” you could barely think , barely had the right of having thoughts as he brough you closer and closer to your high.

Your legs began to quiver as you felt your organism coming closer and closer with each stroke inside you and every lick across your pearl. Feeling the way you tightened around him , zombieman replaced his tongue with his other hand as he twirled and twisted the nub between his fingers. “You about to cum , pretty girl?” he said as he twisted his fingers inside you making you give out a shaky moan.

“Yes! Yes! Please dont - dont -” you could barely finish a sentence as he fucked you on his fingers. You go closer and closer , ready to jump off the deep end when-

He curled his fingers , hitting that bundle of nerves right in the middle. That sent you over the edge as you clamped down tightly around him and sprayed him with your juices. He continued his mistreatment of your insides , slowing down to help you ride out your organism as you spazzed out on the bed. “There we go, pretty girl.” he cooed , slowing down to a stop as you breathed heavily - chest heaving and your mind banked over as you came down from your high.

“You're doing so well for me.” he praised and you could hear the rustle of his pants as he pulled them off his legs. There was a hand on your knee that slid up and under as he hoisted a leg over his shoulder. He turned his head , peppering the flesh in kisses as he sided eyed your heaving , sweaty form. “Think you can continue to be a good girl for me?” Cheeky bastard , he was smiling as he said it and you resisted the urge to snap back at him with a witty remark.

The only reason you didn't was because you felt something poking the bare bottom of your flesh. You looked down- only to have your eyes widen slightly at the sight of his mini him.

Oh no , make no mistake though. Despite the nickname you gave it he was far from small. It was long , it was thick , and the sight of bulging veins as your pussy throbbing. The head was an angry pink with pre cum dripping out and onto your skin - painting your flesh in its sin as it continued to pulse and throb.

“like what you see?” the teasing tone had your eyes snapping from his member to his face that you only now realize was flushed. His eyes were hooded and as you opened your mouth to tease him about it - he stuck his fingers into your mouth causing you to instinctively close around them.

“save your breath dear. You're going to need it.” He removed his fingers from your mouth to grab your other leg and hoist it up over his shoulder. He then pulled the both of you until you were on the edge of the bed and his feet were planted on the ground. You felt his hardness tap against you and gasped out as he began to rut against you. You scrambled for something to grab on and your hands found purchase on the arm that he had planted on either side of your head to hold himself up.

“Do you not realize how long I waited for this , waited for you?” The question caught you off guard and you were brought out of your pleasure haze to stare at his face. He was looking at you , love clearly in those ruby eyes that you had always found captivating. “My pretty little girl , so close yet so far. All those times you yelled , insulted, and hit me: only to turn into a little mouse the moment you wanted something. You made my undead heart break in the best of ways.” Then he was lining himself up.

“Now look at us,” he leaned up to look down at where the two most intimate parts of you were touching- hole to cock. “We're about to become connected in the best way possible.” Then he pushed in.

It stung , a slight joint of electricity as he pushed the head in and you gave a groan of pain. “I know dear. Just bear with me a little longer.” He hissed out as he continued to push his hardness farther and farther in. Your hands twisted the blanket in a deathly tight grip , hissing in displeasure at the stinging sensation.

He was easily one of the biggest things you ever had in your body. Your poor pussy could do nothing but quiver and twitch as it tried to accommodate his bigness. He bottomed out and you gave a sigh of relief as he stopped moving.

“There we go. Good girl , you're taking me so well.” He praised as he began to rub at your clit in an attempt to make the pain pass away. It worked. You could begin to feel yourself grow wet as the heavy cock sitting inside twitched in anticipation. As he continued his mistreatment of your little nub and the pain turned to pleasure - you whimpered.

Bucking your hips slightly , he groaned in pleasure as both his hands went to grip onto your hips. “Please move.” You pleaded , voice whiny and gurgled as you spoke. He did as told.

He began to move , sliding himself to where he was damn near out before pushing back in. He was moving slowly , sensually , in a way that got your skin sweating and chest heaving. The feel of the little bulging veins from earlier dragging themselves against your walls had you moaning out.

It was a slow thing and you could tell he was enjoying seeing himself break you down into a puddle of pleasure. While it felt amazing , the pace was going to give you a slow agonizing death. “faster , Tadashi. Faster.” He responded by grabbing your two legs - before he began to speed up.

You gave a startled choked moan as your pleasure increased by tenfold. Each drag of his length had pleasure jointing up your spine and into your brain to the point of override. You could tell he was enjoying it as well. He groaned against your skin on your legs he had been biting and sucking on.

It felt as though he was trying to carve a piece of himself in you as he pistoned in and out of you. You were forced to bear the pleasure- even more so when he hit a bundle of nerves that had your eyes rolling into the back of your skull and a porn star worthy moan leaving your mouth.

“shit , you tightened up.” he sucked two fingers into his mouth before he placed them on that bud and began to rub in circles. You screamed , you honestly to God gave a scream of pleasure as the action caused you to blank. “shit , pretty girl.” you could feel him looking at your face: mouth hangs open ,cheeks sweaty , and hair clung onto wherever they touched. To him , you’ll always make for the most beautiful picture - even more so with your face contorted in pleasure.

“did I fuck you dumb already.” he teased and you gave a loud moan in response. “good to know.” and he went right back to focusing on making you both reach your high. Reaching for your legs. He unhooked them from his shoulder and began to bend them back towards you. This allowed for him to drive himself even deeper which had you keening in delight. You were chanting his name now. Tadashi , zombie , zombieman - each one coming out in broken up wording.

A familiar feeling began to build back up and it made you extra sensitive. You quivered , biting your lip and throwing your head back as white began to cloud your vision. Sensing your high coming and becoming closer to his own , he became sloppier in his thrust as his hand moved towards your clit. That had you gasping out in pleasure before babbling began to leave your mouth.

“Bout to come baby girl?” he was panting his own self as he sped up his hand. “Come on , let's to it together yeah.” and then he was twirling your clit as he aimed a thrust at that bundle of nerves in you and you couldn't hold it in even if you tried.

You came , juices painting his thighs and length as he continued to trust in you a few more times before he too came undone. He spilled his cum in you , warmth from it having you give out a small groan as your chest heaved. He trusted a few more times trying to drag out the last of his high before stopping.

He pulled out and you could feel the cum leaving out your twitching , quivering hole. His eyes tracked it with a prideful pleasure as he allowed your legs to collapse off the bed. While he left to get some rags , you were left there trying to catch your breath. He came back soon enough and you felt him clean up the mess from where his essence was leaving out of and on before wiping off the sweat and other juices from both of your body.

“I’ll take care of you properly in the morning,” he muttered as he laid down on the bed and pulled you along with him. He cuddled you into his arms as he laid his chin on your head. “But for now , lets get some sleep.”

•~•○•~•

You awoke to a familiar feeling. Wind on your body and an absent body from the bed. He was not there when you went to sleep. But judging by the sound of wind entering your ears , he was here now. You opened your eyes to see him standing on the balcony , smoking like always as he looked out into the night sky.

You didn't even think about getting up from the bed this time - you just did. Slipping from under the covers , you began to make your way towards him. You stood behind him , looking for a few seconds before wrapping your arms around him as you laid your cheek on his back. You felt a hand grab your interlock ones as he ran a finger over the skin.

“Well hello to you too.” the sound of smoke being exhaled reached your ears before the smoke was seen. You saw him place the stick on the railing before he turned around to face you. “You should be asleep , pretty girl.” he said as a hand cae to wrap around your waist to tug you forward. “Yeah , well , who’s fault is that?” you grumbled up at him. He laughed and apologized in a way that you knew he wasn't actually sorry.

You huffed at him and got ready to turn back around to go out under the covers when his hold tightened. He leaned down , connecting your lips in a soft , gentle kiss that had butterflies soaring through your stomach before he broke it. You pouted up at him as you grabbed his hand and tugged. “Let's go to bed.” you said and he allowed you to tug him back inside.

His cigarette lay’s forgotten on the balcony railing.

[sorceresssundries]

A Scandal In Sorcery

Chapter 1

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav

Summary: A Regency era/Baldur’s Gate crossover. Set in an Alternate Universe, containing familiar faces and key events in new light.

It is, predominantly, a love-story which will contain explicit content as the slow-burning bond between Gale and Tav deepens.

(This is also published on AO3)

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: This story is set in an Alternate Universe. Though there may be echoes of sound and flickers of light from a well-loved place, please bear in mind this is a new path in a familiar forest.  Take comfort in the familiarity and care into the unknown.  Some things are destined to come together in every universe, just as others are doomed to fall apart.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single suitor in possession of high standing and good fortune, must be in want of marriage.

It was the peak of summer, and Tav found herself yet again stifled by the dull formalities and repetitive dances of a ball in the Upper City. How she hated being dragged along to these pointless parades, where she always ended up feeling more like a peacock than a wizard. She had been corseted and primped to within an inch of her life; all to be displayed at an event which to her was a total circus. She longed to escape to the sanctuary of her study, where parchment and quill awaited, and where her fingers could be adorned not with jewels, but with the comforting stains of ink.

By the number of couplings announced in the weeks following these illustrious events, one could argue that the whole affair was more of an auction than a party. Despite the early hour, the incessant chatter was already filled with discussions of betrothals and alliances. Frantic parents and guardians would inevitably spend their entire time flitting from suitor to suitor, engaging in pointless small talk in an attempt to veil their matrimonial intentions—although most of the time, their efforts were in vain. Her father, unfortunately, was one of those frantic parents. She could see him now, talking to one of the many Lord and Ladies. No, not talking, conspiring . She understood his frustration, since her mother’s passing their place amongst the elite had been teetering on a cliff edge - and one delicate misstep could send them spiralling downwards and lost to the pull of untiring and pitiless tides. It was exhausting.

Tav’s mother, Estrea Olyn, had been a wonder of a woman. A gifted sorcerer, Slayer of Bhaalspawn, and hero of the gate. She had risked the shunning of the society she occupied when she eventually settled and married a humble merchant. Luckily, her charm, beauty, and famous heroics meant she was destined to be the pearl in the oyster of every social event the Upper-City could shuck. But the privileges welcome to Estrea did not pass over to her grieving family in the wake of her death.

So here Tav was, years later, at another ball, in another set of restrictive robes, being paraded around another room full of suitors in an attempt to reclaim some of the prominence which had been stripped from her family. It was pointless, really. She had made it perfectly clear to her father she had no intention of marrying. She was set on furthering her studies at The Blackstaff Academy and reigniting their good name by becoming a wizard of unparalleled renown. She knew she had it in her, she just needed the chance to prove herself. But, until her position there was accepted, and her future secured - she was destined to go along with the charade. It kept her poor father’s mind occupied and saved him from being swallowed up by the grief which chewed at him from morning to each sleepless, heart-wrecked evening. It had been many years since the death of her mother, yet grief’s grip suffocated just as relentlessly as the day she had left him. 

The magnificent room was scattered with groups of people arranged in predictable constellations. And she, as always, was a lone star. She sighed and adjusted the dark tendrils of hair which kept slipping from the crown of curls fixed atop her head, and settled into the dimmed corner she had found to mentally prepare for more inane chatter from disinterested suitors.

Relief eventually found her in the form of Wyll Ravenguard. Her friend and fellow auction item who had been catalogued and tagged alongside her for the season, although she was well aware the value attributed to him was far higher than her own. He was devilishly handsome, perfectly mannered and most importantly, the son of the Grand Duke. There wasn’t a man or woman in the Upper-City who wasn’t completely enraptured in his presence. 

“You know, no-one will ever ask you to dance if you skulk away in dark corners.” He said as he approached her hideaway. He looked beautiful as ever, in robes of emerald which complimented the richness of his dark skin. His hair was freshly braided, and he smelled comfortingly of cedar and cinnamon. As always, his eyes sparkled when he spoke. 

“What?!” She replied clutching at her necklace “I thought I was presenting myself as the enigmatic and elusive damsel in desperate need of a marriage proposal? I must try harder, Saer, but I am eternally grateful for your ongoing education.” She bowed low, and he gestured to her secretly in a most ungentlemanlike way.

“You are a nightmare in a too-tight corset” His voice was a low chuckle.

“And you are a delight who will never see it undone.” She teased.

Wyll had been her friend since childhood. He had been kind to her when others had not, a generous skill he had only refined as they grew older. Despite their closeness, and many a rumour, Tav and Wyll had never entertained the notion of matrimony. Her father's clumsy attempts to suggest them as a suitable match to Wyll's father were met with resolute indifference from Ulder Ravenguard. His aspirations for his son transcended that of a marriage to the wild, ostracised girl of a lowly merchant. This came as a grateful relief to both Tav and Wyll. 

There had been confusing, romantic feelings at one time - but only during the blur of adolescence, where love could spark, flourish, and burn out within the space of a few heady weeks. Some people would call it a crush, but to Tav her feelings for Wyll had been the first bud of spring; hesitant, and ultimately too immature to flourish into a full-summer bloom. 

Still, inevitably, there had been awkward, hormone-driven exploration between the two of them. The unavoidable result of two teenagers spending too much time together, sunbathing half-naked on secret rooftops and stealing away dusty bottles of Arabellan Dry to be passed between wine-stained lips in intimate hideaways. He had been her first kiss. Her first fumble. The first person she had dared open that little, forbidden box of sexual discovery to, and he had always treasured it fiercely. He was her friend, and she loved him dearly.

“I’ve heard Jacques Huntington is itching for a dance with the young Lord Ravenguard.” She nudged his shoulder with hers and nodded her head towards a tall, thin, blonde gentleman who kept throwing nervous looks in their direction.

“How have you heard that? You’ve barely spoken to anyone.” Wyll scoffs. 

She shrugged nonchalantly, “It’s easy to eavesdrop on conversation when people pay no attention to you. I may as well be sipping on a potion of invisibility, it is a most enviable position to be in. I highly recommend it”

“Well, I'm not dancing with him again after last time. His breath was foul. I’ve had to bat away a house-call from him three times already this season.” 

Tav’s eyes scanned the room once more, and settled on a young woman whose empire-waisted dress could barely contain her breasts. “Marianna, then. I swear she must bathe for hours in that fragrance she wears, the scent of her could rouse a bugbear from its slumber. You would have no fear of smelling her breath over it.” 

“Absolutely not. She presses herself far too close, I feel as though she’s trying to mount me each time we dance.” Tav laughed loudly, earning herself a glare from a group of grim-faced guests not too far away. Gods, everyone was so stiff. 

“Well, your pickiness will have to end eventually. The two of us are becoming the withered grapes on an otherwise flourishing vine. Soon no-one will want a taste.” She was secretly glad of this bleak reminder her father would often throw at her, maybe soon she would be left alone entirely. 

It was then that the entire ballroom seemed to switch from incessant chattering to a soft hum. For a brief second, Tav thought someone must have cast ‘Silence’ over a large part of the congregation, before her eyes caught up with the focus of their attention. 

Two men had just entered the room. One was probably the palest man she had ever seen. Undeniably a high-elf, with perfectly coiffed and curled white hair. He moved with such delicate grace that it would have been no surprise to learn he was spun from silk itself. His clothing was the most eminent of everyone there, deep red with gold threading so intricate he practically shimmered as he moved through the crowd of people. His mouth was carved into an unwavering smile, which alone would be pleasant, but combined with the glint in his piercing blue eyes, gave him an unsettling, roguish quality which set Tav’s hairs on end. 

The man who followed behind him was an entirely different story. Clad in robes of silver and amethyst purple, he exuded the quiet confidence of someone settled in their own skin. He was that infuriating, effortless kind of beautiful that made heads turn and hearts flutter with no struggle at all. Where the pale elf looked as though he had spent hours preening himself in front of a mirror, this man looked as though he had thrown his hair into a half-bun, placed upon himself the first set of robes he could find, and still turned up looking tempting as sin itself. His skin was bronzed, eyes dark, hair dappled brown and silver, and the expression on his face said he wanted to be here almost as little as she did. He was a bright tonic amongst the evening’s bitter artifice.

“A handsome couple” Her eyes followed them as they made their introductions. Well, as the pale elf made their introductions. The man in purple seemed to hang back during each interaction, letting his companion do the talking - and the flirting - by the way he would sway as he spoke, leaning towards each target in an overfamiliar fashion. 

Wyll snorted at her observation. “They are no couple, dear Tav.” He took a sip of his wine as he appraised them himself. “You’ve heard of one of them, surely?” Her eyes flicked between the two men, trying to discern if she recognised them from one of the many, many books cluttering her study. “That, my magical friend, is the illustrious Gale of Waterdeep. The Chosen of Mystra herself.” 

Of course. As he said it, the twinkle of the silver eight-pointed star earring nestled in the darker man’s hair caught her eye. Mystra’s symbol. She had heard of him. He was a  Waterdhavian child prodigy, and stories of his prowess had featured occasionally in her studies. 

Tav herself was no stranger to the whispers of prodigy. From a tender age, she had possessed the rare gift of being able to channel the Weave at her whim. As a child, the fabric of magic had been her playground, her evenings spent in solitary exploration as she wove illusions and breathed enchantments into the toys that nestled under her bed. Magic fizzled in her blood. She was born with the same sorcerous gift as her mother, and she had buried herself in painstaking study to ensure its total understanding and control. She would be its master, and would not die to it the same way her mother had.

Tav had no love for Mystra. The death of her mother had led to the shunning of the Goddess completely. She placed blame upon the Mother of Magic for not protecting Estrea from her own divine gift. It had seemed desperately unfair, cruel, and most of all confusing. The combination of Tav’s anger and studious intent had left her ostracised by most of her peers, and so she had spent her time alone with her spellbooks in the lonely shadow of her dead, heroic mother. Still, Tav refused to be defined by the whims of fate. Magic would be her legacy, earned through sweat and toil rather than inherited by birthright alone. She would carve her name into the annals of history, and she would do it without the pomp and privilege of being some arrogant, naive chosen. She may have the spirit of a sorcerer, but she was determined to be the greatest wizard of the age.

She regarded Gale of Waterdeep intensely, and for a split second he straightened as though a cold wind had slipped across his skin. He turned, and held her heated gaze across the room. His eyes were a soft, comforting brown, but they were not enough to melt her from the icy pillar she had become. He was Mystra’s mouthpiece, and she would not hear any of him. 

She snapped her eyes away from him and turned back to Wyll, who was appraising her with soft amusement. 

“Now, now. As much as a fight would liven the party up a bit. Let’s keep your magic  contained, shall we?” He gave her hand a comforting squeeze and felt her skin jolt as her power tried to escape. With practiced focus, she contained herself. A burst of emotional magic, although entertaining, would probably cause her poor father a heart-attack.

“What is Mysta’s chosen doing among this tedium?” She enquired of Wyll, whom she knew was always privy to the best gossip the city had to offer. One of the benefits of being likeable, she supposed. 

“Apparently she has granted him temporary leave to return to the material plane.” Tav rolled her eyes. It sounded as though he was some pet she had released into the garden to relieve itself. Wyll leaned in a little closer  “I hear, he is also her lover.”

This was not a total surprise to Tav, it seemed to be a habit of Mystra’s. And, she thought to herself and she risked another glance at the handsome Wizard, she supposed the Goddess had good taste. 

The music in the room suddenly lulled into silence. “Oh, here we go. Time for the speech from our illustrious and enigmatic host himself.” Wyll’s tone was laced with disdain. As much as he flourished at these parties, it was no secret that he held no respect for the man who tended to host the majority of them. 

Enver Gortash ascended the grand staircase and settled himself at the balcony overlooking the festivities below. His gaze swept over the assembled crowd, a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he prepared to address them.

Standing just behind him was his ever-present bodyguard, a flame-red Tiefling woman whose imposing stature and muscular frame were poorly hidden behind her tailored suit. Her golden eyes were sharp and watchful. She was his sentinel, and Tav noticed Wyll couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her. 

Lord Gortash was a figure of both respect and trepidation, his influence extending far beyond the confines of his sprawling estate in the Upper-City. His reputation preceded him, a shadowy figure who was powerful and mysterious in equal measure. He was respected by many, and unnerved by most. No one who received an invitation to one of his glittering events ever dared to turn it down. 

“Welcome! Dear friends, noble patriots of Baldur’s Gate.” His voice was low and almost hypnotic. “What a delight it is for you to once again grace the home of a humble, and grateful, servant of this city.” Tav noted how his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I am entranced by your company as always, and I am looking forward to spending this evening… In fruitful conversation.” At this, he flashed his eyes directly at Tav and her whole world stopped. His eyes were so dark they were almost black, and she wasn’t sure why but her blood suddenly turned icy. It only lasted one, practically imperceptible moment and then he dragged his gaze away from her to continue his speech on the importance of camaraderie and the ongoing development of their great city. 

He finished to a round of applause, and Tav had decided she had had enough of all of them. She wanted to go home. 

“I’m going to find my father, Wyll.” She looked round the room to see which unlucky person her father had trapped in conversation now, but she couldn’t see him anywhere. Wyll remained silent next to her.

“Wyll?” 

“Hmm?” His focus returned, and Tav had a fair idea of where it had floated off to.

“I’m going to retire for the evening” She gave his hand another squeeze “I apologise deeply for leaving you alone, but perhaps there is other company you could find sanctuary in?” Her eyes flashed with mischief. “I hear Lord Gortash’s bodyguard is quite entertaining.” 

Before he could retort, she turned and left, her eyes once again frantically searching for her father. This led her to bump directly into Gale of Waterdeep, who had been attempting to gravitate towards her for quite some time.

“Ah, my apologies my lady.” He bowed his head as he took a step back from her. “I’m usually better at this.” 

“At displaying manners?” She remarked. 

“At introductions.” He tried not to smirk to himself at her annoyance. The potent aura of weave he had sensed around her from all the way over the room, seemed to intensify at her irritation. Fascinating, he thought. “I am Gale of Waterdeep… and you are Ostavia Olyn.” He said with infuriating confidence. 

She did not fall for the flattery of him obviously having asked about her. “Usually one is granted the privilege of being able to offer their own introduction” She said. “Has your time away from mortal company caused you to abandon all decorum?” He did not answer her question as he sensed, quite correctly, that she was not done.

“I’ve never met a Chosen before. Should I refer to you as Saer?” Her tone was now slightly mocking. He was enjoying her immensely. “What title would Mystra prefer?” 

 “Mr.Dekarios will do just fine.” He took in the flame of her eyes, and the dark hair which had started to spiral loose down her neck, and suddenly he found the evening much more enjoyable. “Please would you do me the honour of partnering me for a dance?”. He offered an elegant hand to her. 

And for some reason she couldn’t quite understand, she took it.